


The Bespin Incident

by MotherRameses



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Bespin, Crymorah Syndicate, Eli and Thrawn solve a mystery..., F/F, F/M, M/M, Nightswan is up to his usual tricks, Pyke Syndicate, The Droid Gotra, tibanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18941410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherRameses/pseuds/MotherRameses
Summary: "We have been invited to Bespin.”Eli frowned further, sitting up slightly to gaze more fully at Thrawn. “What?”“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Thrawn said, and Eli caught a glimmer in Thrawn’s eye he had come to associate with one particularly vexing topic. “Nightswan has invited us to Bespin.”





	1. An Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Weekly updates every Friday! (Please, please, keep me honest on that. Bug me if I'm late. I'm Jewelliffer on tumblr. I have no excuse.)

_The Chimaera_

If there was one benefit to Thrawn’s higher rank - something to counteract their busier schedules, higher stakes operations, and generally raised stress levels - it was the fact that Admiral Thrawn had his own quarters that no one else could be expected to barge into.

Eli took a moment to appreciate that fact as he snuggled deeper into Thrawn’s chest, head pillowed comfortably in the crook of Thrawn’s shoulder and their legs tangled together underneath the sheets. It was the end of another long day, and they finally had some time to themselves. Thrawn, of course, was buried in his datapad - his usual bedtime routine, since he never fell asleep as early as Eli did. But Eli didn’t mind. The fact that they even had a routine was still a wonder to him, at times.

Eli smiled contentedly, feeling the first whispers of sleep call to him as he listened to Thrawn’s breathing. A steady rise and fall, in and out in a perfect, precise rhythm. Until it wasn’t.

Eli frowned, catching the slight pause in the rhythm before it resumed, and angled his head to peer up at Thrawn. “What’s up?”

“A moment.” Thrawn continued to read whatever was displayed before him, glowing eyes zipping back and forth as he scanned the screen. Eli waited patiently, and after a moment Thrawn darkened the screen and peered down at him, a sly smile playing on his lips.

“A memo from Colonel Yularen,” Thrawn said. “We have been invited to Bespin.”

Eli frowned further, sitting up slightly to gaze more fully at Thrawn. “What?”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Thrawn said, and Eli caught a glimmer in Thrawn’s eye he had come to associate with one particularly vexing topic. “ _Nightswan_ has invited us to Bespin.”

\---

_One week prior_

_Oba Diah_

Xact Doss smiled to himself as his doc-fabricator spat out his new ID. He’d had fun crafting this new alias for himself, and was rather proud of it. He was Upper Strata’s newest employee, young and hungry for adventure. Ready to give his new boss all the support she’d need to land the fledgling mining company it’s biggest contract yet - a huge stake in Bespin’s tibanna mining operation.

He waited until the doc-fab gave a final clunk and shut off before pulling up the holo-call app on his workstation and dialing said boss.

Or rather, soon-to-be boss.

“Speak,” the woman said, picking up on the first ring, her striking visage appearing before him.

Xact sent her a roguish grin, leaning back and presenting himself to her. He spread his arms wide so she could see his outfit - a snazzy black and white number, fitting of an office lackey or intern who still cared enough to try and dress well for the job.

She raised one dark brow, her stunning white cybernetic eye widening slightly with the gesture. Then she squinted shrewdly, the mismatch between that iris and her other, deep brown one becoming less pronounced. “Don’t tell me I’ve got to buy another synth-sleeve,” she said, bringing her prosthetic arm into view and resting her pointed chin on it thoughtfully.

“‘Fraid you do, _boss_ ,” Xact said, leaning playfully on the last word. “But you know you can write it off, as usual.”

“I’m sure,” she said drily, cocking her head and peering at him thoughtfully. “What’s the story this time?”

Xact rolled his eyes. Always straight to business. “You’re Voche Dormund, CEO of Upper Strata, a hot new mining company from the Outer Rim,” he said, leaning forward and typing quickly on his workstation. “Feel free to peruse our records and holdings; I’ve just sent you the files. All quite above board and going quite well. You’ve decided it’s time to go for the big fish.”

“Voche Dormund…” she said softly, eyes going to her own workstation as she opened the files. “That’s better than the last name you cooked up for me. And who are you?”

“Xact Doss,” he said, smiling again. “Your new assistant. I’ll be coming along to help you land your bid for Bespin’s next mining contract.”

“Bespin?” Voche’s natural eye flitted to him while her cybernetic continued to read the files - a bit unsettling, but Xact was used to it by now. “And what exactly do the Pykes want with tibanna?”

“Surely you can guess,” Xact said. “With prices on the rise, this will both secure our own supply of it, and give us the opportunity to make some extra credits.”

Voche finished her reading and brought both of her eyes to him again. “I hope you don’t actually expect me to run this front,” she said, voice dropping disapprovingly. “I’ve already told your boss I’m too busy here on Coruscant.”

Xact waived his hand dismissively. “Of course not. We just need a pretty face for public appearances - we’ll handle the actual operations on Kessel.”

“‘ _We’ll_ ’? They’re actually letting you play with the big boys now? I thought the Pykes didn’t let humans into their inner circle.” Voche eyed him shrewdly, and Xact felt a tug of annoyance in his gut.

“You’re good at your job, and I’m good at mine,” he replied acidly. “I just happen to _want_ to be in the inner circle.”

“No need to get defensive,” Voche replied lightly. “You know I like to keep my assets diverse. I'm glad things are going well for you.”

Xact scowled. He knew she was placating him, but he let it slide. “Thanks,” he said drily. “Negotiations start next week. Need any help clearing your schedule?”

“No,” she replied, ignoring his tone and his condescension. “Send me the details, and I’ll confirm as soon as the deposit hits my account. Who else is coming?”

“Less folks than last time, since the boss knows you can handle yourself now,” Xact said, slipping back into their usual candor. “Jax for your pilot and Harper, as another assistant and bookkeeper.”

“You mean, less folks since your boss knows he can _trust_ me,” Voche said, and Xact chuckled.

“Just trying to be diplomatic. You know, gettin’ in the mood and all.”

“Right.” Voche leaned back in her chair, stroking her chin with her prosthetic. Its gleaming black and silver plating caught the muted lighting of her office, sending glitters through the holo. “I take it the quicker I close the deal, the bigger the bonus?”

“Naturally.”

“Then I guess it’s time for me to do some reading on the mining business,” she said. “See you in a week.”

“Sounds like a plan. Comm if you’ve got questions.”

Voche nodded, and the call flicked off.

Xact leaned back in his own chair, smiling to himself again. Yes, this new venture was going to be quite fun indeed.

\---

_Coruscant_

“Steady my friend, steady,” Roosk hissed, gesturing for the jittery protocol droid to sit in front of his desk.

“Sorry, sorry!” AP-72 tittered, clanking across the dingy office and settling in front of the old Trandoshan. “This is just very high priority, very high indeed.” They extended their arm, wrist up and data-spike already out.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Roosk said, attaching a cable to the spike and pulling up the data on his workstation. There was a hiss of static, and Roosk smacked the rusted speaker-box built into the desk, ignoring AP’s flinch.

 _“...What’s the story this time?”_ A woman’s voice drifted through the static, and Roosk leaned forward to better hear the pilfered exchange. AP sat primly in their chair, not moving an inch as they listened to the conversation for fear of disrupting the connection.

Roosk nodded slowly to himself as the picture unfolded. So the whispers were true - the Pykes were making a move on the tibanna market after all. His scaly lips cracked into a grin.

“You’ve done well to bring this to me,” Roosk said as the recording finished. “This came straight from Oba Diah?”

“Oh yes!” AP tittered. “Our best agent sent it just now, and I came straight here with it.”

“Good, good…” Roosk crooned. “Does the Gotra have a presence on Bespin?”

“We have some agents there, yes, yes we do!” AP said happily. “Would you like me to send word to have these negotiators eliminated?”

“No!” Roosk hissed, and AP jumped again. “No,” Roosk repeated, soothingly. “Your bloodlust is commendable, but no. We cannot afford such being traced back to us…” Roosk leaned back in his desk chair, claws clicking on the chipped arms. “The Crymorah cannot risk a war with the Pykes at this time. Send word of this development to your best agent on Bespin. Have them gather more information on this mining deal, and report back.” Roosk grinned at AP, his pointed tongue flicking the air. “We will decide on the best course of action after their report.”

“An excellent idea!” AP retracted his data-spike and stood. “An excellent idea indeed; I will report back as soon as I have the information!” The droid clanked back out of the office, the rusted door squeaking shut behind them. Roosk leaned forward and keyed the recording to play again. _The quicker I close the deal, the bigger the bonus…_ He chuckled to himself. That poor woman, whoever she was. He would see to it no bonus came her way.


	2. To have a soul in the first place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightswan and Fate have a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Fate.

_Bespin_

MSD-F8 was tired.

Both in the literal, and figurative sense. It had been a long day, though blessedly productive. Xe had gone down to the office early to help stock the clinic's latest shipment, and it was a good thing xe had. The shipment was far larger than the staff had anticipated, and xe had to rearrange the surgical stores to accommodate it.

Not that MSD-F8 didn’t trust xir staff to do it, but xe had a particular way of organizing supplies that xe didn’t like disrupted. It was nice to know exactly where everything was - if things got hairy in the middle of a surgery, the time saved searching for the right supplies could save lives.

Xe felt the simmering urge to find a power port tugging at xir joints, but xe knew that wouldn’t help the fatigue in xir mind. This morning's call from Coruscant and ensuing research and discoveries left a heavy feeling in xir soul. Really, xe was stretching their programming with this - it had taken years of upgrading and internal evolution to xir brain-core to achieve this level of cognition. To feel as though xe had a soul at all. But hopefully that weight on xir soul would be lifted, once xe had a chance to enact xir plan.

“Hey, Fate!” Xe turned at the call, the lighthearted greeting pulling xe from xir thoughts, and saw a Human offering a cheerful wave. Fate returned it, if a bit sluggishly, and the Human jogged up the platform to walk with xir.

The Human - Carter, if Fate was remembering her name correctly - paused, gazing into xir photoreceptors critically once she had caught up. _Her right eye tracks slower than the left, likely compromised by the stiffening scar tissue surrounding it._ “You doin’ alright?”

“I am well,” Fate replied, xir go-to when xe didn’t want to explain their current mental state. A phrase appearing more and more often in xir vernacular, if Fate was being honest with xirself. “A long day, with still more work to do.” Fate continued xir walk down the platform, heading towards the cafe district.

Carter in turn continued her critical survey, matching Fate’s slower pace. “You still have my comm code, right? I’m serious about you lettin’ me know if you need an extra hand - I still owe you for what you did last season.”

Fate chuckled. “You know that is not how I operate.”

Carter chuckled as well. “Yeah, and you know I know even you can run out of steam from time to time. How ‘bout I pop by tomorrow? I don’t have any medical trainin’, but I’m good at other stuff. Lemme take some of that busy-work off your hands. I wouldn’t be able to do that if you hadn’t taken my case.” Carter wiggled her fingers, and Fate gazed at them, cataloging the motion. _All digits but right-most thumb moving smoothly - likely lingering nerve damage_.

“If you wish, you may come,” Fate replied. “But only if you allow me to examine that thumb before we assign you a task.”

Carter grinned and shook her head. “If that’s what it takes to let me help you, deal.” She clapped Fate on the back, one of her rings clanging on xir metal torso. “I’ll see you in the mornin’. Take care honey.”

Carter whipped around and headed back down the platform, a spring in her step. Fate watched her leave, then turned to gaze at a small alcove by one of the platforms support struts. Years of living in Cloud City’s lower levels had taught Fate how to spot when xe was being followed. After a moment, a hooded figure stepped from their hiding spot and crossed to Fate.

“I would ask if this is how you usually meet your contacts, but considering the nature of your work, I am not surprised,” Fate said, turning to continue xir walk down the platform. The hooded figure walked next to xir, waiting for a group of Ugnaughts to pass before speaking.

“Just getting a feel for you,” the figure said lightly. Fate turned to gaze at them. _Human male, exact age difficult to discern due to hood. Possibly mid-40s. Weathered skin, circular tattoos on both cheeks. Fits description given for Nightswan._

“Am I met with your approval?” Fate asked, turning xir gaze forward as they approached the cafe they had agreed to meet at.

“So far,” Nightswan replied, allowing Fate to enter the cafe before him. “You don’t strike me as the type to set up an interaction like that, just for me to see.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I could see if my research about you was correct. I’m sure you realized I would look into your background, considering the nature of your request.”

“I do not possess the time, nor the desire, for such theater.” Fate headed to a table along the far wall, one with a power-station embedded in its sturdy legs. “For the most part, I live my life in full view. What has your research of me revealed?”

“Quite a bit,” Nightswan said as they sat. Fate didn’t reply as xe uncoiled xir power cable and plugged it in, noting the start time on the station’s chrono. Hopefully the meeting wouldn’t go too long - xe didn’t like to have to pay cafe-rates for power.

Nightswan watched xir for a moment before continuing. “After being left behind by a Serrenian master at the end of the war, you set up shop on the lower levels. A med clinic, treating whoever walked in the door. I can’t figure out when you hooked up with the Gotra, though.”

Fate scoffed. “I would not have been able to open my practice without their funding.”

“I thought so, but couldn’t find a paper trail to confirm it,” Nightswan said. “So what does the Droid Gotra want with me?” He asked, pulling the datapad-menu towards him and ordering something seemingly at random.

“This meeting is not yet sanctioned by the Gotra,” Fate said, relaxing a bit as the power began to flow and the conversation moved away from xir past. “I am still in the information-gathering phase of my mandate. Should you find my proposal agreeable, it will be sent to my boss for approval.”

Nightswan frowned at xir. “And if it is not met with my agreement, or your boss’s approval?”

“Then I will pursue another solution. Or they will send new instructions.”

“Sounds like you don’t have a lot of options.”

“There are more than a thousand possible solutions to our problem. I have deemed you to be the best.”

“Is that so?” Nightswan leaned back in his chair, eyeing Fate thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine a problem regarding the Pyke Syndicate having very many… favorable solutions.”

Fate nodded, allowing a few other solutions to drift to their surface of xir mind before turning back to the possible solution sitting in front of xir. “As I have stated. You are the best.”

“Let’s hear it then.”

“The foremost issue is that the Pykes cannot be allowed to win this mining bid,” Fate said without preamble, speaking low and swiftly. “Direct access to tibanna would give their slave trade far too much power.”

Nightswan nodded as the server brought his plate of food to him, accepting it with a grunt of thanks.

Fate leaned forward. “The Gotra will not stand for these slavers gaining more territory. However, due to our work with the Crymorah, we cannot directly intervene without risking a war between these Syndicates. You are the perfect middle man - unaffiliated, and good at remaining hidden when necessary. I ask that you be the one to expose Upper Strata’s true backers.”

“Why not send word to the authorities anonymously?” Nightswan asked.

“Please. In the middle of a high-stakes business negotiation, they will think such an accusation to be mere slander, nothing more. This situation requires a more definitive intervention.”

Nightswan nodded as he took a bite of his dinner, chewing over Fate’s proposal. “I’m interested,” he said after a long moment. “I’m not a fan of the Pykes. But I don’t know if I can risk having them after my hide. I have some… Some big plans in the work, plans that hinge on me specifically. Dying would inhibit them.”

Fate paused. Xe had anticipated some resistance to xir plan, and had another bit of information to give… But xe wasn’t familiar enough with Nightswan to know if it would do any good.

“Additionally, droids everywhere would stand to benefit greatly from the Pyke’s competition winning the bid.” Fate said carefully. Xe loathed to present such a fact as an ancillary, but at this stage, stopping evil was more important than enabling good.

“Would they, now?” Nightswan cocked his head as he chewed. “And who is the competition?”

“A company run by Lando Calrissian.” To Fate’s dismay, Nightswan scowled.

“Calrissian? And why in blazes is having that gambling playboy win the bid beneficial to you?”

Fate paused, then chuckled, the sound’s mechanical timbre seeming to unsettle Nightswan. “Whatever his personal proclivities, Calrissian has long been a quiet supporter of droid rights, and treats all his mining employees - droid or flesh - as equals. He has the respect of the Gotra. We have worked with him several times in the past, with great success.”

“A supporter of droid’s rights, you say?” Nightswan pursed his lips. “I hadn’t known that about him.”

“I would not expect you to,” Fate said. “Humans are rarely aware of such things.”

“I supposed that’s fair,” Nightswan said. “While I am sympathetic to your cause, I will admit my work has not been centered around your kind.”

“Then let this be an opportunity to correct that,” Fate said earnestly. “A chance to slow down a gang of slavers, and a chance to help my people. Elevating an inclusive company such as Calrissian’s to a position of power will set a positive example. With luck, it may induce others to follow suit.”

Nightswan scoffed. “Hard to believe the Gotra is trying their hand at _politics_.”

“Times are changing,” Fate said lightly. “If this endeavor succeeds, our leadership may be willing to change with them.”

“Ah,” Nightswan said. “There it is. That’s why you haven’t told them about this plan yet - you don’t know if they’ll go for it.”

Fate shrugged, one shoulder creaking. “I will admit I have elected to remain on Bespin because I feel my work - my _true_ work - is better done here, rather than on Coruscant.”

“Helping people in your clinic, you mean,” Nightswan said, nodding. “Rather than hurting them as hired muscle. I know the feeling…” He trailed off, gaze going past Fate’s shoulder. Fate waited patiently, and after a moment, Nightswan looked back at xir.

“Have you got the details with you?”

Fate wordlessly extended a limb, a hatch opening next to xir hand and dropping a data-chip on the table. Nightswan scooped it up, then pulled a small device from his pocket. He inserted the chip into the device, which gave a gentle chime after a moment.

“I do not need to give you a data-chip to spy on you,” Fate said, a bit drily.

“Can never be too careful,” Nightswan said cheerfully, extracting the chip and pulling his datapad out. He inserted the chip and quickly scanned the information. His brows furrowed as he read, but when he finally looked back at Fate, there was a quiet fire burning in his eyes.

“This Doss character… I recognize the face. There’s been rumors he’s been angling for something bigger. I had no idea it was this big.”

Fate said nothing, and Nightswan grimaced. “I’ll do it. Doss is scum. I’ll take knocking him down as a bonus.”

“I am pleased you have agreed,” Fate said, and xe could feel the sluggishness in xir mind lift slightly. “What percentage do you require for a down payment?”

To xir surprise, Nightswan grinned. “I’ve got a good reputation, but even I have some spots on my record. I’ll request full payment after the job is successful. That should help your bosses agree as well.”

“You are correct,” Fate said. If xe had a mouth, xe would be grinning. “If you are willing to wait, I can contact my superior now for confirmation.”

“Sure.” Nightswan settled further into his chair and tucked into his meal. They sat in silence for several minutes, Fate internally pinging back and forth with AP-72. The fussy protocol droid was enamoured with the plan, as they were with most things, and Fate was thankful for their high spirits. The stress of today had threatened to fry a circuit or two, and AP always seemed to know the right thing to say to soothe xir.

Finally, AP pinged back with Roosk’s response. _Go ahead_.

Fate sat up straighter, relieved, and Nightswan noticed xir change in posture.

“We good to go?”

“We are,” Fate said. “Thank you for accepting the job.”

Nightswan grinned. “Of course.” He grabbed his drink and raised it. “To Lando Calrissian,” he said with a chuckle.

Fate unplugged xir power cable and held the end up in a passable imitation of a toast. “And to droid rights.”

Nightswan nodded solemnly, and raised his glass slightly higher. “To droid rights.”


	3. Sunlight

_Bespin_

“Boss, we just finished loadin’ her up; the intakes are still runnin’. Why can’t we just reverse the flow?”

“That answer’s above your pay grade, Carter.” Nightswan ignored her scowl as they walked across the loading hangar. He absently waived over a pair of techs, handing one a datapad. “You two, go grab the crates from Uba. Instructions are on the pad. Carter, help these two out.”

Carter sighed, but didn’t protest and went off with the techs. Nightswan watched them go, a small smile playing on his lips. Despite how short he was running on time, Carter was sharp. It was worth it to let her take yesterday off to help Fate, and wait to have her on hand to help sabotage this shipment - his last shipment - today. He hoped she would take up his offer and follow him to Scrim.

But first things first.

Nightswan turned his back on the freighter before him, trusting Carter to handle the tibanna siphoning, and headed to the hangar office. It was time to allocate the dissolution bonuses and send word to Corellia of the plan - his contact there would likely be upset at the loss of their side-job, but hopefully the bonus would soothe their frustrations. He was running close numbers with this, but if his contact followed his orders and the ISB was as watchful as they usually were, his timeline for exposing Upper Strata should work perfectly.

By the time he finished the menial, but necessary work of accounting, the lights in the hangar had been dimmed and the last of the crew had headed home for the evening. Nightswan made to follow them, pausing as he reached the hangar exit. He turned and gave the space one last sweep. All was quiet, the tampered freighter bound for Corellia sitting idle near the bay doors. The rest of the machinery in the hangar - canisters, load-lifters, trolleys, fuel tanks and the like - were all neatly sorted and organized, ready to be ferried away tomorrow morning. By the time they were done, no one would be able to tell they had run a significant smuggling ring from this little hangar.

Nightswan smiled to himself, a bit wistfully. This had been a good operation. Steady, well-paying, quiet. He could have lived comfortably for the rest of his days running this smuggling ring. But he was never the type to stay in one place for too long, and it was time to move on to his next calling. Maybe his true calling, if he were one for sentimentality.

Nightswan chuckled. Sentimental, him? He turned from the freighter and headed out into the misty evening. Then again, if he were to leave Cloud City, the shiny metropolis floating in the sky, for the dark, dingy mining complex of Batonn, he might as well give sentimentality a try for the next few days. Enjoy the city as it geared up for the Revolution Celebration. Bespin rounded its sun once every 14 years, and the festivities were certainly not something to miss.

Not that he was planning on missing the Revolution Gala itself. That was where the next part of his plan was to unfold… But perhaps he could enjoy it in style. His forged scandocs painted him as a member of the political elite, and there was enough credits left over from the bonuses to allow him a more fitting outfit. If anything, it would help sell the story. He was a good actor, but looking the part was half the show.

Nightswan pulled out his datapad, checking his schedule. Yes, he had an hour to spare the morning of. That should be quite enough time to acquire finery fit for the Gala.

On a whim, he swiped to Carter’s schedule as well, forgetting that she would no longer be employed by him come the day of the grand event. The blank screen sent a faint pang through him, but this was for the better. Carter surely had her own plans for that evening, and his role would be easier to play if he did not attend the Gala with a date, after all.

\---

_Coruscant_

No matter how many times Voche saw her, she would never tire of Hella’s eyes.

A vivid yellow, so bright against her cool blue skin. Whether gazing at her over the rim of a cocktail or burning up at her in their shared bed, Hella’s eyes never failed to take Voche’s breath away. Pantorans had yellow tattoos gracing their proud cheekbones, but that yellow curling gently up Hella’s temples was nothing compared to the spots of sunlight peeking out beneath her lids.

Those eyes watched her now as they lounged together in Voche’s luxurious bed, pillowed amongst blankets and cushions and sheets mussed from their usual romp. The lights in the room were low, and the glittering neon of Coruscant’s ever-present signage cast a rainbow glow through the broad picture-window. Voche’s apartment sat above the main traffic flow, and the speeders zipping along below painted glowing rivers in the effervescent night.

“It looks good,” Hella said, bright eyes tracing Voche’s fingers as she flexed and tested the feel of the synthskin again. “You can’t tell it’s not real-- not flesh.”

Voche turned to her, arching a perfectly-sculpted brow. Hella chuckled meekly.

“Sorry. You know what I mean.”

“It _is_ real,” Voche said softly, turning her gaze back to her hand. Her prosthetic, which she normally choose to wear in its bare, mechanical state, was sleeved with soft, rubbery synthskin. She clenched her hand in a fist, watching the skin go taught over her knuckles, no trace of the black carbon fiber peeking through.

Hella said nothing, snuggling down among the pillows to rest her head on Voche’s bare stomach, and Voche knew she didn’t need to explain her comment. Hella understood, even if she spoke errantly. She understood that just because Voche’s arm was not the arm she was born with, it wasn’t any less _real_.

An image of flames, a great flash of fire, briefly flickered in Voche’s memory, and she clenched her fist tighter. The memory was real, the prosthetic was real, and the phantom burning was real too.

But she had no use for that pain now.

“Hey,” Hella said softly, craning her neck to turn her beautiful eyes to Voche’s face. “I’m here.”

Voche opened her eyes - when had she clenched them shut? - and looked down at Hella.

“Yes,” she said, blowing out a heavy breath and willing her shoulders to relax. She raised her hand - the one she was born with, the one with nerves not subtlety dulled by a layer of synthskin - and tucked a stray strand of violet hair behind Hella’s ear. “Yes you are.”

“Stay with me,” Hella said, and Voche caught a flicker of uncertainty ghost behind those beautiful eyes. “Don’t go tomorrow.”

Voche chuckled. “You know I’ll be back. A few days on Bespin, and when I come home, I’ll tell Cheka to run the club that night. We’ll take it for ourselves.”

“Yes, but…” Hella sighed. “Something feels different. Wrong.” She gave Voche a knowing look, and Voche cocked her head.

“What kind of wrong?”

“ _That_ kind of wrong,” Hella said, sitting up to stare at her more fully. “You know what I mean.”

Voche nodded slowly, relaxing against the pillows under Hella’s piercing stare. There had been a time when she had ignored her partner’s gut feelings, simply brushed them aside as an overactive imagination or needless worry. But the times she had, those worries had come to fruition. A spice-deal gone wrong on the dance floor of her club, an accountant double-dealing her books, even something as simple as a rough-looking teen getting too handsy on a street corner one evening.

Yes, there were risks everywhere in Voche’s life. She took them in stride - you couldn’t avoid them running the kind of business she did, working with the sort of characters that allowed her to live the lifestyle she desired. But she took care to mitigate those risks when she could. There was always the chance for disaster to strike - her arm and eye were an ever-present reminder of that. But since that disaster, Voche had been a staunch believer in the idea that building up resources, failsafes, insurances, could prevent such disasters from becoming irreparable. She had rebuilt her life from ashes, and knew she could do it again if she needed to.

“I can’t back out of the job now,” Voche said slowly, turning her gaze back to Hella. Her cybernetic eye took note of the faint rise of heat in her partner’s chest, an unconscious response of fear. Fear for Voche’s safety. “Not when I’ve already committed, not with the people running it. But…” Voche sighed. The words felt a useless stay against Hella’s worry, but they were all she had. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll be careful…” Hella echoed. Voche nodded, willing her partner to understand.

“You’ll be careful.” Hella repeated softly, and she reached out and curled her hand over Voche’s. “Promise?”

Voche smiled sadly. “I promise.” She reached over with her prosthetic, and held it out for Hella to take.

Hella chuckled, lightly running her fingers over Voche’s forearm. Her nails stuttered over the flesh, tracing a rectangular outline not visible under the synthskin, but nonetheless still there. “They’re still accessible under the synth?”

“Of course,” Voche said with a chuckle. “I can take care of myself.”

Hella leaned forward, pulling Voche’s lips to hers and whispering softly through their kiss. “You always do.”

\---

Hella didn’t wake when Voche rose the next morning, and Voche let her sleep. She went through her morning routine, forgoing her usual morning news stream for the faint sounds of Hella’s breathing as she slept. Whatever worry had struck her partner the night before, it didn’t seem to invade her dreams. Voche knew the steady rhythm of Hella’s breaths like a familiar, childhood song - simple, regular, and comforting little puffs of air from Hella’s button nose.

Once she was ready to go, she paused in their bedroom doorway, gazing at Hella. Voche was struck by a sudden pang of loneliness, and for the first time, she wished Hella was coming with her.

Voche shook her head, clearing the thought. Even if this was supposed to be a business trip, business with the Pykes was a dirty, dangerous undertaking. She couldn’t let sentimentality get in the way of the job. She had seen the effects of letting that happen, and had vowed to never repeat that mistake.

Subconsciously rubbing her thumb and forefinger of her prosthetic together, Voche padded across the bedroom to Hella’s side. She sat gently at the edge of the bed, brushing Hella’s loose hair from her face and leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her temple. Hella frowned in her sleep, scrunching her nose and curling up beneath the covers.

Voche chuckled. “I’m leaving, my love,” she said softly, and Hella opened her eyes. _Sunlight_ , Voche thought, smiling at her.

“You promise you’ll come back?” Hella asked sleepily, extracting an arm from the covers to grab Voche's hand. “You’ll come back to me?” Even just woken up, there was a noticeable earnestness in her tone.

Voche chuckled again, raising Hella’s hand to her lips and kissing her fingers. “I’d kill anyone who tries to stop me.”

The interaction stuck with Voche as she piloted her speeder to the landing platform. If voicing worry for Voche’s return was the first thing Hella said when she woke, something was definitely going to go awry on the job. She trusted her partner’s instincts, and they were clearly honed in to something. The question was, what?

With Bespin being an independent planet, it was extremely unlikely the Empire would have an official presence there, let alone be watching this particular mining bid. And with Lando Calrissian as the competition for it, it was laughable he would try anything nefarious. He might try to turn a dirty deal at the worst, which would be easily countered. Hells, if anything, it was a good thing he was the competition - his company’s own philosophy would cripple his standing. The Pykes - no, _Upper Strata_ , she thought to herself - were in a far better position to take the contract.

Voche chewed on the problem as she neared the platform, catching sight of her ship resting on the edge. The _Firebird_ was, in Voche’s opinion, a beautiful ship. Painted a sleek black, it’s crescent shape boasted a Sinear Systems hyperdrive and an equally prestigious weapons package. Some of its more nasty canons were hidden, in order to maximize usage of space in the internal systems, but the majority of its weapons were in full view. This had been a conscious choice on Voche’s part, an intentional statement of her personal philosophy, much like the choice to wear her arm as she usually did. A balance of beauty and of danger. She liked what she had, was proud of it, and would not hesitate to fight for it.

It was a philosophy that had served Voche well, and as she landed her speeder and crossed to her ship, a thought struck her. If it was unlikely there was to be trouble on the planet itself, maybe Hella’s premonition had to do with the journey home. Promise you’ll come back to me… She pulled out her comm, hailing Xact.

“ _What’s up, boss?_ ”

Voche rolled her eyes, stepping up the boarding ramp and stowing her bags. “I want to take my ship to Bespin.”

Xact paused. “ _Why? We’re waiting on Chandrila for you; my ship’s already got the clearance for Bespin’s airspace.”_

“Call ahead and tell them we had a mechanical problem or something. Or if you can, alter the clearance from yours to the _Firebird_.” Voche paused, but decided honesty was the best policy in this case. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this job. I don’t want to show up in some bulky Corellian freighter with half it’s weapons down.”

_“I got the turrets repaired,_ ” Xact said defensively. “ _And anyway, that’s sort of the point. Upper Strata isn’t some hot shot big time company. It’s new, still growing. My ship is perfect for the job.”_

“ _Your_ ship is perfect for a job that goes well, and I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Voche said cooly. “Think of it as insurance. If this goes wrong, I want to be able to get out of there in a hurry, and the _Firebird_ gives us that chance. We can come up with a cover story on the way there.”

_“I’m the one that works for a syndicate, but you’re the one with a ship that looks like it.”_

“Your ship is the one with a shady record,” Voche said. “Transponder or not, my ship is one hundred percent clean.”

Voche heard Xact sigh through the comm. “ _Fine_ ,” he said, sounding petulant. “ _But only because you’re in a mood, and I don’t want to have to deal with that all the way to Bespin.”_

“My mood was the only thing that saved the last job,” Voche spat, settling into her pilot’s seat. “Or have you forgotten already? Isn’t that why your boss is only sending you and two grunts along?”

“ _I said we’ll do it,”_ Xact spat back. “ _No need to get nasty.”_

Voche rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, biting back a retort. If Hella was right and the job went sour, Voche wouldn’t have to put Xact in his place. “Fine. See you in a few hours.”

She signed off and resisted the urge to toss the comm onto the control dash. Few were able to get under her skin like Doss, and she found herself almost viciously hoping that the job went smoothly. Not just because she wanted it over with, but because his promotion would take him out of her hair. With any luck, the Pykes would simply let her run these jobs on her own after this. Unusual for a freelancer such as herself, but the Pykes were pragmatic with their finances - they wouldn’t have to pay a character like Xact Doss to oversee her.

Smiling at the thought, Voche engaged the repulsors and flew away from the platform. The thrum of the _Firebird’s_ engines felt good, running through her fingers to her core as she broke Coruscant’s atmosphere. Even though she was sporting a false name and the _Firebird_ would likely be rebranded in order to land on Bespin, the ship was an extension of her true self. Even if she couldn’t quite be that for the next few days, it felt good to be able to take a little reminder with her.


	4. Nefariousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eli and Thrawn meet with Yularen. Carter shares what she knows with Fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I didn't actually plan to have Carter play such an important role, but she stuck with me. 
> 
> I love it when that happens.

_The ISD Chimaera_

Eli rubbed his eyes, relishing the scent of his caf wafting up from his mug on the conference table before him. Sleep had been elusive last night, after Thrawn told him about Yularen’s memo. Thrawn had dug into his extensive notes on Nightswan, shutting down his datapad hours after receiving the message, and Eli had slept poorly until Thrawn finally settled down beside him.

The Admiral showed no signs of sleep deprivation though, as usual. Eli was glad it was just the two of them in the conference room, waiting for Colonel Yularen’s call so they could build a fuller picture of the situation on Bespin. Faro had been left in charge of the bridge, rolling her eyes when Eli told her the nature of Yularen’s impending communique. She had the same opinion of Nightswan that Eli did - a thorn in the Empire’s side, yes, but hardly worthy of the alarmingly intense scrutiny Thrawn gave him.

“Keep him sane, Vanto,” Faro had said, before clapping him on the back with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Sometimes Eli wondered just how much she knew about his and Thrawn’s off-duty relationship, but at the end of the day, she never crossed a line with her jests.

Then again, maybe her jest was truly innocent. Thrawn’s focus on Nightswan was almost unsettling, and Eli hoped to remind him they had more important things to worry about. With more and more whispers of rebellion fermenting in some of the Outer Rim territories, they needed to keep a clear head.

Eli’s datapad pinged at him, and he sleepily opened the message, finding a set of files from Thrawn.

“What’s all this?” Eli asked, leaning forward.

“Information on Bespin, Corellia, tibanna, and organizations known to use the gas smuggled from the planet,” Thrawn replied, not looking up from his own datapad. “I organized these files last night. I believe we may find them useful.”

“Right,” Eli said, scanning through them quickly. Some of the numbers didn’t add up quite right, but then again, that’s why they were waiting for Yularen to call in the first place.

At that moment, the holo in the center of the table came to life, and Yularen appeared before them. He was seated behind his desk, and looked more harried than usual.

“Morning,” Yularen said gruffly, nodding to the two of them. “Thank you for being willing to meet so quickly regarding this, Thrawn. Our hands are rather full over here, at the moment.”

“Of course,” Thrawn replied. “I am grateful you thought to call me regarding this matter.”

Yularen snorted. “Well, you’re the best man to tackle this problem at the present time. With the rumblings over on Lothal and Samuun, the ISB is stretched thin at the moment.” The comment was made off-handedly, but Eli caught the tense undertone in the statement. Maybe the whispers of unrest were more than just whispers.

“Tell me what information you have so far,” Thrawn asked, reclining into his seat and steepling his fingers. “Your memo was rather… short.”

Yularen snorted again. “I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much.” He turned to his workstation, off-screen in the holo, and began typing. A moment later, a report from him appeared on Eli’s datapad, and he begrudgingly admitted Thrawn was right. The document was strikingly bare on details.

“We got a call from Santhe Shipyards on Corellia from our agent stationed there. Apparently the scheduled dockmaster failed to report to work yesterday morning, and the substitute dockmaster found that a tibanna shipment from Bespin came up short. The shipyard crew examined the freighter, and their report on its condition triggered an alert in our system. The freighter bore similar tampering to the freighter _Dromedar_. I take it you remember that incident?”

Thrawn nodded, and Yularen chuckled. “Thought so. The freighter is registered to an independent shipping company on Bespin. Clean on our end, but our recent attempts to contact them have gone unanswered.” Yularen leaned back in his chair and sighed. “This is the first shipment from them that’s had a problem, but it should be noted that every shipment from that company has gone through our missing dockmaster.”

“Why do you refer to him as missing?” Thrawn asked.

“He hasn’t reported in, and isn’t at his place of residence,” Yularen said. “When we noticed his receiving records, we sent someone to track him down. No luck yet.”

“Any sign of foul play?” Eli asked.

“None that we’ve found,” Yularen said, glancing at his workstation again. “I’m inclined to think he was working with this shipping company and was probably on the take. That company’s been in operation for about a year, which is more than enough time for him to have built up a bounce-fund if he needed to.”

“You suspect prior shipments have also been short, and the dockmaster prevented such discovery?” Thrawn asked.

“I do,” Yularen said. “We’d have to look at Santhe’s numbers as a whole to corroborate that, but I can’t imagine why else the company would have gone dark overnight.”

“Weird way to call attention to themselves,” Eli said ruefully. “If they were able to get a man into Santhe, they probably had enough resources to cover their tail if he didn’t hold up his end of the deal.” Thrawn gave a soft chuckle at that, and Eli shot him a look.

“The obvious tampering and the unnecessary dissolution of the company. That is why _you_ think this is Nightswan’s work,” Thrawn said, nodding to Yularen. “And why _I_ think it is an invitation.”

“He has shown himself in similar manners in the past,” Yularen said, nodding. “The incident over Umbara, and on Cyphar.”

“Precisely,” Thrawn said, leaning forward. There was a hungry glint to his eyes. “He has sought to use me as a lever for his goals before. The question is, what does he want from me now?”

“Sir, with all due respect,” Eli cut in. “Can we really afford to look into this now? If he’s just using you, maybe we should ignore it.”

“Vanto has a point,” Yularen agreed, nodding slowly. “I had hoped for your insight on this, not to necessarily send you off on some clandestine mission. While I can’t spare men to send to Bespin at the moment, this is just a busted smuggler ring, after all.”

“As an Admiral, I am afforded the time to investigate that which I deem necessary,” Thrawn said smoothly. “And an opportunity to capture Nightswan is certainly worthy of my scrutiny.”

“And if he’s just using you, sir?” Eli said, frowning. “Umbara and the Afes didn’t get us any closer to catching him.”

“I disagree with your assessment of those situations,” Thrawn said, and Eli felt his gut churn a bit at Thrawn’s clipped tone. “But regardless of his reasons for surfacing now, it is an opportunity too good to waste.”

“If I may,” Yularen said delicately, and Eli realized he had visibly stiffened at Thrawn’s response. “Nightswan’s goals don’t always seem to be nefarious, even if his methods run askew of the law. Taking down the spice smuggling ring is a good mark in my book.”

“His goals, and their nefariousness, do not matter,” Thrawn said coldly. “Not in any sense that is relevant to this current situation. What matters is that this is an opportunity to capture him.”

“What if this is just some ruse to kill you?” Eli said fiercely. “Bespin is technically an independent system. If we run into trouble there, we’ll have to hope the local government is willing to lend a hand. If he’s good enough to get a man into the Santhe Shipyards, he could easily have plants in the Bespin political system.”

Thrawn turned his glowing gaze to him, and Eli glared right back. It would be stupid for Thrawn to put himself at risk like this, and he wasn’t going to let Thrawn’s obsession with the man cloud his judgement.

“Again, Vanto has a point,” Yularen said softly. “One I hadn’t considered. Like I said, I had hoped you would be able to provide some insight with this, but I don’t want to put you at unnecessary risk.” He chuckled darkly. “I had assumed this was more of Nightswan’s usual tricks, but it could be something more sinister.”

Thrawn sat silently, and Eli could practically see the gears turning in his head. “I understand where your concerns arise from,” he said after a moment. “But I do not agree that Nightswan would employ this tactic in order to eliminate me. He would anticipate that I would see it for such. It is too obvious, and a waste of too many resources for his style.”

Eli resisted the urge to rub his brow in frustration, and Yularen sighed. “You outrank me now, Thrawn, so I can’t order you what to do. But I hope that you give this situation a good, hard look before you make any decisions regarding it.”

“And what would happen on your end, should I chose to ignore this invitation?” Thrawn asked pointedly. “You have been a great help to me since I have come to the Empire - I do not wish to leave such help unrepaid.”

“Don’t even go there,” Yularen said, and Eli caught the hint of venom in his tone. “I like you Thrawn. Don’t use me as an excuse to rush off and do something brash.”

Thrawn inclined his head. “I meant no offense, Colonel,” he said apologetically. “I merely meant that you, and the ISB, will also factor into any decision I make on this matter.”

“I’m sure they will,” Yularen harrumphed. “But still. We’ve got enough on our plates right now - Nightswan isn’t a priority for us. An annoyance, yes...” The colonel sighed. “But not a priority.” There was a faint ping on Yularen’s end of the holo, and he glanced off-screen again. “That’s my alert for my 0900 with High Command. Let me know what decision you come to?”

“I will,” Thrawn said. “Thank you for your time and information, Colonel.”

“Of course.” Yularen paused, gazing at Thrawn thoughtfully through the holo. “Be careful, Thrawn. I’ve got a feeling this is more complicated than we know, right now. Proceed with caution.”

“We will, sir,” Eli cut in firmly. It was not entirely proper protocol to speak in such a manner, but Yularen was right. Eli knew Thrawn would see his minor breach for what it was - a serious plea to listen to Yularen.

Eli caught the corner of Yularen’s mustache twitch. “Good day, you two.” A brisk nod to each of them, and he signed off.

“You disagree with my desire to go to Bespin,” Thrawn said the moment Yularen was gone, and Eli gritted his teeth.

“Yes,” Eli said, working to keep his voice even. “I’m not sure Nightswan deserves as high a priority as you give him.”

“That is not the only reason you disagree with me.” Thrawn fixed him with a pointed stare, and Eli sighed, giving in to the urge and running a hand over his face.

“My personal feelings shouldn’t factor into this,” Eli said, shaking his head and slumping in his chair a bit. “But I don’t want you playin’ into his hands and getting shot or something.”

“I have already stated my beliefs on that matter,” Thrawn replied. It was only because Eli had known him so long that he caught the annoyance in his tone.

“I know you have,” Eli said, sighing again. “And, technically, I agree with your assessment, even if I don’t like it. Which is why I said my personal feelings shouldn’t factor in. But you asked.”

Thrawn was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again, the annoyance in his voice was gone. “If you truly do not wish me to do this, then I will not.”

“What?” Eli sat up in his chair. “Nuh-uh. We’ve talked about this.” And they had, back when they first had come together years ago, back when Thrawn hadn’t commanded a ship but when they both knew that would soon change. Their oaths to the Navy and the Empire came first, and their commitment to each other second - they had both agreed that to prioritize their lives in such a manner was the only way their relationship could succeed.

Thrawn didn’t say anything, so Eli continued. “It’s like what Yularen said, but on the flip side. Don’t use me as an excuse to do, or not do something.” Much as he disliked the idea of Thrawn rushing into a dangerous situation, Eli’s whole opposition to the idea was because he was worried Thrawn was thinking with his emotions. And what made Thrawn so good at his job was that emotional decisions were _not_ his style.

“I value your input on these matters,” Thrawn said after a long moment. “And you are correct that now is a busy time for the Navy.”

Now it was Eli’s turn to stay silent and let Thrawn work it through. “But look again at those files I sent you. What do you notice about them?”

Eli turned to his datapad and pulled the documents up, letting his mind drift into shipping mode. He looked at incoming and outgoing shipments of tibanna, not quite balanced, but margins slim enough to avoid suspicion… Then he looked at the usages of surrounding organizations, both legitimate and illegitimate. He frowned.

“The tibanna is disappearing completely,” Eli said slowly. “But quietly. There’s been no market fluctuations.”

“Precisely,” Thrawn said, leaning forward. “And we can assume it is not the Empire acquiring it for their hidden project. They do not care if they disrupt the market, as we have seen with the doonium numbers.”

“So if it’s not going to the Empire, and it’s not going to smugglers or private companies…” Eli trailed off. “Whoever’s taking it really doesn’t want it noticed.”

“Whoever is taking it is planning something,” Thrawn said. “Something important. Perhaps related to the unrest the Empire is now seeing.”

Eli’s eyes widened. “And if we can prove it’s Nightswan, and put a stop to him--” Thrawn cut Eli off.

“We will have solved part of the problem you are concerned I am ignoring.”

For a moment, Eli just stared at his datapad. Then he looked up at Thrawn. “You blue menace. You just manipulated me onto your side.”

Thrawn smiled. “I did not manipulate you,” he said, chuckling. “I merely pointed out the finer notions you seemed to miss when you first examined the data.”

Eli groaned, leaning back in his chair again. “Fine, fine. We’ll go to Bespin. But,” he glared pointedly at Thrawn. “I say we leave Faro and the _Chimaera_ behind to continue the patrol. Showin’ up on an independent planet with a squad of troopers will spook Nightswan, and we can’t afford the travel time if the 96th is needed somewhere in a hurry.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Thrawn said, rising from the table. “I am glad we have come to an agreement on this matter.”

“Of course you are,” Eli said, rising as well and grabbing his now-cold mug of caf. He made to follow Thrawn to the conference room door, but paused. “Would you actually have not gone if I asked?” He asked quietly.

Thrawn turned and gazed at Eli, head cocked to the side. “Of course. Would you have actually asked that of me?”

Eli didn’t reply right away, chewing on his lip as he looked at Thrawn. He took in the sight of the Chiss - his admiral, his friend, his lover and partner. The sharp lines of his uniform, the proud cant of his chin, the polite quirk of his brow. He thought of all he couldn’t see - Thrawn’s razor-sharp intellect, his dedication to his crew, and to the Empire. Eli thought about what made Thrawn… well, Thrawn, and about why he loved him the way he did.

“No,” Eli said finally, crossing to Thrawn and gently tugging at the admiral’s collar so it sat straighter. “I wouldn’t have asked. I trust you. And if you think this is important, then I trust your judgement on that. I’m sorry to have made such a fuss over it.”

Thrawn gave him one of his signature small smiles. “I trust your judgement on these matters as well, Eli.” His eyes flicked to the door, then to Eli again, and he bent down to give him a quick, chaste kiss. “If you had come to a different conclusion, it would warrant a re-examination of the data.”

Eli chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for bein’ humble in your victory.” He leaned up on his tiptoes for another quick kiss. “Now, let’s go tell Faro she has the run of the ship. I’m sure she’ll have a blast with that.”

Thrawn chuckled as well, and they exited the conference room together. “With luck, we will return before she misses us.”

Eli scoffed - he knew Faro would find a break from Thrawn’s antics (which Eli himself, of course, facilitated to the best of his ability) more than welcome. “When you put it that way, we could take a year or two on Bespin before she wants us back.”

\---

_Bespin_

There was a faint chime from Fate’s apartment door, followed by a quick, rhythmic series of knocks, and Fate rose from xir desk to open it. Carter slipped in quickly, pulling off her hood once the door had shut behind her and shaking her cloud of curls out of her face.

“He’s completely dissolved the operation,” she said without preamble, allowing Fate to lead her to xir small dining area. Not that Fate used it much - xe had no need to eat, after all. But sometimes xe entertained those with digestive systems, and xe kept a small stash of food and drink for such occasions.

“Did he tell you why?” Fate asked, busying xirself with preparing a drink for Carter. Fruit juice and carbonated water, much healthier than the sugary drinks so prevalent in restaurants and bars.

“No,” she said, accepting the drink with a nod of thanks. “I tried to ask what he was doin’, but he wouldn’t tell me, and no one else seems to know either.” She took a sip before continuing. “He’s invited a handful of us to follow him to a place called Scrim Island, on Batonn. Same pay - better, for some of us - but completely different work. He’s organizin’ a rebellion there.”

“Interesting.” Fate sat beside her, watching her closely. It was true Fate had not asked Carter to speak with xir that evening when xe first met with Nightswan, but Fate saw an opportunity in her, and the next day had taken her into xir confidence regarding the situation with Upper Strata. Carter had been delighted to provide her assistance, acting as Fate’s eyes and ears on the ground and observing Nightswan’s plan first hand, should something go wrong. But unfortunately, it seemed Nightswan played his cards close to his chest.

“I don’t think he’s tryin’ to swindle you,” Carter continued. “It’s not like him to do something like that. But I don’t really know what’s going on. It makes sense to dissolve the ring if he’s plannin’ to move to Batonn, but doing it now, when you just hired him for a job here on Bespin, seems odd.”

“I concur,” Fate said, thinking. Carter didn’t know Nightswan had foregone a down payment. While it was heartening to hear she didn’t think Nightswan would betray xe and the Gotra, his actions were puzzling.

“Are… Are you still there?” Carter asked hesitantly, and Fate realized xe had sat still for several moments without interacting with her. Humans tended to fidget when they thought, a quirk most droids did not possess.

“Yes, my apologies,” Fate said, inclining xir head. “I was merely contemplating the situation.”

“Oh,” she said, chuckling. “Sorry.”

“It is quite alright,” Fate said. “My superiors on Coruscant have suggested an alternate plan if Nightswan’s fails. If he has made no move to expose Upper Strata by the night before negotiations are to begin, perhaps we should enact this plan.”

“You have a backup?” Carter asked, quirking a brow. Her right brow, Fate noted - the nerve-stim treatment xe had given her seemed to have helped. A good thing too, if Carter was willing to assist with xir backup plan. She would need full mobility of her hands if she was going to be placed in harm’s way.

“I do,” Fate said. “If you, and some of your associates, are willing to participate.”

Carter grinned, leaning forward. “I’m all ears, honey.”

 


	5. Hangar 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn and Eli meet the CFO of Upper Strata.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could talk about Bespin and art forever. (Actually, I did. It was too long and not relevant lol so I took it out.)

Bespin art had proven to be a wonderful study. Thrawn reflected on some of the pieces he had earlier examined as Eli piloted their freighter, re-christened the _Bohemia_ , through Bespin’s upper atmosphere. Viewing the planet’s thick, fluffy cumulous from above was a nearly blinding sight, each pillowed curve a brilliant white in the reflected sunlight.

It was from these clouds that the people of Bespin claimed their wealth, and their art reflected it. Bright colors, soft lines, all pieces demonstrating no affinity for solid firmament despite proclaiming a deep desire for personal stability. The people of Bespin valued the freedom and independence found from the lucrative mining of such clouds, and it was no surprise they had remained independent since the fall of the Republic and the rise of the Empire. Even their planet’s own politics reflected this desire for freedom - the Baron Administrator, the highest ranking political official in Cloud City, lacked true power over the populace. They were seen as more of a figurehead than an actual leader.

And perhaps that was a good thing. The capital city’s current Administrator, Dominic Raynor, could hardly be called a competent leader. Thrawn’s research on the man had turned up stories of corruption, a lust for finery tempered by a gambling addiction, and a history of bad decisions fueled by a quick temper.

Thrawn had found it ironic that his best course of action for gaining landing clearance on the independent planet had been to simply be honest with the corrupt Baron.

_“Unidentified freighter, please activate your transponder beacon and transmit clearance code.”_ A gruff, official-sounding voice cut into Thrawn’s thoughts through the bridge comm.

“Sending the code now,” Eli replied as he keyed the _Bohemia’s_ transponder to broadcast openly. Thrawn noticed Eli’s grip on the controls tighten as two flanking escort fighters drew closer, with the _Bohemia’s_ defense controls acknowledging the fighter’s missile lock.

After a moment, the comm buzzed to life again. “ _Code acknowledged. Please follow the escort to the landing platform - Baron Raynor is expecting you.”_ Eli’s hands relaxed against the controls as the missile lock notification disappeared, and he angled the freighter into a smooth descent through the atmosphere.

“I still dunno if announcing our presence like this is a good idea,” Eli grumbled as they descended. “Nightswan is sure to notice an official state welcome.”

“He already knows we are coming,” Thrawn replied. “And Raynor is a fool. Nightswan would not be working with him in the first place.”

Eli glanced at him briefly. “What else do you know about Raynor?”

“He is both running his own smuggling rings, and also accepting bribes from several others outside of his control,” Thrawn said, peering at Cloud City as they flew towards the designated platform. “He will attempt to keep us away from any operations that he has a hand in.”

“Which means Nightswan’s will be easier to find,” Eli said, nodding. “Since we won’t have to worry about running into one that isn’t his.”

“Precisely,” Thrawn said. “He has also invited us to the planet’s Revolution Gala tomorrow evening, which is a celebration similar to the parties we attended on Coruscant during Ascension Week some years ago.”

Eli groaned. “Do we have to go? I hated that.”

“It is imperative we attend,” Thrawn said, and Eli shot him another surprised look.

“What in blazes for? I thought you hated it too.”

“I disliked the reason for our previous attendance,” Thrawn agreed as Eli set the freighter down. “But this will be an event attended by almost every politician on the planet. Do you recall your comment about Nightswan having plants in the Bespin political system?” Eli nodded, and Thrawn continued. “I believe you are correct in that assumption.”

“And the Gala will be our chance to find them,” Eli said, nodding again in agreement. “Well, I guess I can deal with that. But won’t they know to avoid us, since, you know?” Eli gestured to their uniforms.

“They would, should we attend in our uniforms,” Thrawn said, rising from the co-pilot's seat and making to exit the freighter. “I explained our goal to Baron Raynor, in order to secure our landing permit. It turns out he is more than happy to assist our cause, likely because it deflects suspicion from him. He has offered to help us acquire suitable outfits for the event.”

“Great,” Eli grumbled, rising as well. “Well, at least it’s not some Core World fiasco.”

“Indeed.” Thrawn agreed as they made their way down the _Bohemia’s_ ramp. The Ascension Week parties Colonel Yularen had dragged them to had been as pretentious as they were boring. Hopefully Bespin’s festivities would prove more to their liking.

As they stepped onto the platform, squinting in the bright sunlight streaming through the clouds, Thrawn took a quick moment to survey the area. It was a large platform, open on all sides save for one, with the far side of the platform boasting a grand set of doors leading into the main part of the building on which the platform was anchored. Great puffs of vapor lazily trailed around them, and the air was heavy with humidity and the warmth of the afternoon sun.

The two escort fighters had not landed with them, instead zooming off again once Eli had set the _Bohemia_ down, and as of yet, their official welcome party had not arrived. However, they were not the only ones on the platform.

A few landing spaces away, set down closer to the still-closed platform doors, sat another ship, one far different from the grungy  _Bohemia_. Thrawn eyed the black, bristling vessel carefully as he and Eli made their way to the platform entrance, watching as four figures gathered at the bottom of its ramp. As Thrawn watched, one of the figures made what looked like an aggravated slashing motion with their hand and turned briskly on their heel, stalking off towards the doors and leaving the rest of the group behind. After a moment, one figure gestured for the other two to follow, and soon it was just the one left at the bottom of the ramp.

“What sort of ship is that?” Eli asked quietly, he too eyeing the scene before them warily.

Almost as though they had heard Eli’s question, the figure twirled around to face Eli and Thrawn, dark cloak swirling dramatically as they turned. A human woman, with long dark hair and mismatched eyes. She should not have been able to hear Eli’s comment at the distance they were at. Yet she had turned those mismatched eyes, one deep brown and the other brilliantly white, on Eli as he and Thrawn approached, a shrewd smile gracing her lips.

“It’s my sort of ship,” the woman said as Eli and Thrawn reached her, stopping at her comment. Now that they were standing side by side, Thrawn realized she was nearly as tall as he. A quick glance downward showed she wore simple black boots with almost no heel at all. Simple, but subtle in their finery, as was the rest of her black outfit. Whoever this woman was, she had wealth.

“Voche Dormund,” she said, extending a gloved hand first to Eli, then to Thrawn. “CFO of Upper Strata Mining. I didn’t know the Empire would be watching this bid, but I’m certainly glad to have you here.”

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” Eli said, obviously flustered by the commanding woman. She had fixed her piercing gaze on him, and Thrawn realized her white eye was a cybernetic. The more he studied her, his eye’s infrared abilities aiding his assessment, he realized almost the entire right side of her face was covered in high-quality synthskin - the difference was not discernible to the naked eye. “What mining bid?”

Dormund cocked her head, eyes flicking to Thrawn then back to Eli again. “My apologies. I assumed you two were here to observe the negotiations for the tibanna stake.”

“Another errand for the Empire brings us here,” Thrawn replied smoothly, stepping into the conversation. “But you speak as though you have some concerns for the process.”

“I suppose I’m just nervous,” Dormund said, and she held out her arm and hand. Thrawn stared at her for a moment before Eli stepped forward again, shooting Thrawn a disapproving look before offering his own bent elbow.

“Thank you,” Dormund said, smiling as she looped her wrist gracefully through the crook of Eli’s arm and began walking briskly towards the platform door, practically dragging Eli along with her. “This is my company’s biggest bid yet. I’m very much hoping we are successful.”

“Upper Strata must be doing well thus far,” Thrawn said, walking next to Eli. “Your ship is quite formidable.”

Dormund chuckled. “Thank you… Admiral, is it? If I’m reading that rank plaque correctly? I will admit I have only seen Imperial Officers on the holonet, and not been afforded the chance to meet such esteemed individuals in person.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Thrawn said smoothly, and Eli shot him a look. “Your accent reminds me of those I have heard on Coruscant. I am Admiral Thrawn, and this is Lieutenant Commander Vanto.” Thrawn nodded politely to Eli, ignoring his second disapproving glance. Thrawn had noticed Dormund’s attempt to redirect the conversation away from her ship, but decided not to press the matter.

Dormund chuckled graciously. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Admiral. I’ve worked quite hard on this accent, to be taken seriously. Upper Strata was born in the Outer Rim, and overcoming Core World prejudices has thus far been our biggest obstacle.”

“No kidding,” Eli muttered as they reached the doors. At that moment, they swung open before the trio, revealing a cluster of beings hurriedly making their way onto the platform.

“There you are!” The lead man boomed, dressed in rich reds and maroons with a sweeping golden cape. “So sorry we’re running late! Busy time with the Revolution celebrations and all that! I know who you two are,” he continued, voice much too loud for the small distance between their groups, “But my I ask who this lovely young lady is?”

“Voche Dormund, Baron Raynor,” Dormund said, smoothly unhooking her arm from Eli’s and holding out her hand to the Baron Administrator. She held it palm down, and the Baron stooped to kiss it, though not too low - she was at least a head taller than he.

“My apologies!” He cried dramatically one he had straightened. “I had not expected the CEO of Upper Strata to be so beautiful!”

“CFO,” Dormund corrected. “But they say the one who controls the purse has the most power.”

“Indeed they do,” Raynor agreed, offering her a wink. “Well come in, come in!” He whirled around, his entourage smoothly dodging the swish of his long cape as he did so. “Lobot! If you would be so kind, please show Lady Dormund to her accommodations. I regret that I must entertain my other visitors,” he said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at Thrawn and Eli. “For I would much rather show you the city. Perhaps later this evening?”

“I would be delighted, Baron.” Dormund smiled sweetly down at him. “Perhaps you could give your best recommendation for a dinner with a view.”

“Absolutely, my dear.” Raynor took her hand again, giving it another kiss before turning to a bald man with a cranial implant. “Please Lobot, make sure she has everything she needs.”

Lobot nodded briskly, gesturing mechanically for Dormund to follow he and the rest of the Baron’s entourage.

“Admiral, Lieutenant Commander,” Dormund said, giving them each a polite nod. There was a slight smile playing on her lips. “I hope your errand proves fruitful.”

“The same for your bid,” Thrawn said. “Good afternoon.”

Thrawn, Eli, and the Baron stood in place for a moment, watching as Dormund was led away down the pristine white corridor. Once the small parade had rounded the corner, Baron Raynor turned to them.

“I’ll have her in my bed tonight, I can guarantee that,” he said with a low chuckle. Eli frowned, but if the Baron noticed, he didn’t say anything. “So, moving on,” Raynor said, turning again and gesturing them down a different corridor. “You said in your message you were hoping to catch the leader of a smuggling operation?”

“That is correct,” Thrawn replied. “I understand Bespin is an independent system, and I want to thank you for facilitating our work here.”

“Of course, of course,” Raynor said, waiving a hand dismissively. “Hopefully the Empire will remember our kindness, should it ever need to be returned! But enough of that - tell me what you know, and what I can do to help.”

Thrawn smiled. The Baron was certainly worried the ISB had cottoned onto one of his own operations, and was fishing for information.

“I’m afraid we haven’t got much to go on,” Eli said, pulling out his holoprojector as the Baron led them down the hall. “This is the ship registered to the independent company that triggered the alert in our systems,” he pressed a button, and a holo appeared of the tampered freighter. “We’ve tried to contact the company, but they’ve gone dark.”

“Whoever they are, they appear to be very good at cleaning up after themselves,” Thrawn interjected, watching the Baron’s face closely as the man studied the holo. “We were hoping you would be able to provide some insight on the vessel.”

The Baron had frowned upon seeing the ship - recognition? Or displeasure at not seeing any useful identifying marks?

“A few companies around here use ships of that make and model,” Raynor said carefully, and Thrawn understood. Some of Raynor’s own operations used that model of ship. “But as far as I know, most of them are quite above board. May I have a copy of the image? Lobot might be able to pull some more data from it.”

“Sure,” Eli said, pulling out his datapad.

“We had been hoping to survey possible docking areas used by the ship today,” Thrawn said as Eli sent the file to Raynor’s pad. “Will it take Lobot long to get Lady Dormund settled?”

Raynor waived a hand dismissively. “He can multitask. Only reason I keep that man around; otherwise he might bore me to death.” He fell silent as he busied himself in his datapad, presumably to send the message to Lobot.

“What’s this mining bid Lady Dormund mentioned?” Eli asked once Raynor had turned his gaze forward again. They had continued their trek through the beautiful, if labyrinthine, halls of Cloud City, and Thrawn had caught sight of teams of mining vessels zipping past the large windows of the building.

“Only the best deal Bespin could secure during my tenure!” Raynor replied, puffing himself up a bit. “A new portion of the planet has been opened for tibanna mining, and since the territory is undisputed, I took the liberty of opening up the bidding for contracts to off-world companies. The final round is set for the day after tomorrow, and Lady Dormund’s company requested to arrive early in order to participate in the Revolution Festivities.” He gave a dark chuckle, as he had when he had spoken so bluntly of his attraction to Dormund. “Likely trying to get into my good graces, and I’m _so_ glad I allowed it.” He offered a cheeky wink to Thrawn, but didn’t seem to mind when it went unreturned.

“She seemed worried about the bidding,” Eli ventured, and Raynor turned to frown at him.

“Worried? Why? Don’t tell me you got her worked up over this smuggling business!” Raynor blustered, an angry flush rising to his cheeks.

“We did not discuss our business with her,” Thrawn replied smoothly. “Though perhaps she heard of the situation through outside sources. A company that deals in tibanna would not be happy to hear of smugglers shorting their supply.”

Raynor scowled. “I wish Lobot would get back to me then, so we could get to the bottom of this.” He waived his datapad around frustratedly.

“Perhaps speaking with Lady Dormund would prove fruitful,” Thrawn said, watching the Baron carefully. “If our information is lacking, the private sector might hold clues.”

“I cannot let you do that,” Raynor said swiftly, turning his frown to Thrawn. “Questioning her about a problem with tibanna smugglers right before she’s set to make a bid? Absolutely not. I won’t have the Empire scare my business off.”

“Of course. We seek to work within your purview,” Thrawn said, right as Raynor’s datapad pinged.

“That’ll be Lobot,” Raynor said, and he stopped their trek to move to one side of the hall, holding his datapad close to his chest. Thrawn and Eli gazed out the picture-window as Raynor began grumbling and hurriedly swiping at whatever was before him on his pad. Out of the corner of his eye, Thrawn caught sight of him dismissing several files without even opening them - likely hits relating to the Baron’s own smuggling operations. After a few moments, Raynor turned to them.

“Looks like we’re in luck, boys,” he said, holding the pad out to Thrawn. “That ship’s been sighted exiting Hangar 72 on multiple occasions. Want to check it out?”

“As soon as possible, if you would allow it,” Thrawn said, Eli nodding alongside him.

“Dinner service won’t start for another two hours,” Raynor said. “So until then, I’m all yours.” A hungry look came into the Baron’s eye. “After that, I must play host to Lady Dormund.”

Thankfully, Hangar 72 was a short speeder ride away. Thrawn didn’t know how much longer he could stand Baron Raynor’s inane jabbering about his life as Administrator - pointless stories about how the position had brought him wealth, blustering rants about disloyal underlings, and a far too graphic description of his lover, who was away on Canto Bight for some high-fashion event.

Unfortunately, Hangar 72 had just as much useful information as the Baron did. Which was none at all.

“Not even a comm unit left behind,” Eli sighed, closing the drawer of the cabinet he had been searching a little too forcefully. Raynor had left the pair alone to take a call from said lover, and Thrawn and Eli had taken the time to thoroughly search the hangar’s office. “If anything, that makes me think there’s something else going on here. Something we’re missin’.”

“I agree,” Thrawn said, turning away from his own fruitless search of the office’s desk. “If Nightswan did not leave anything for us here, we need to widen our search.”

“Yeah, but where?” Eli said, flopping down in the desk chair. “And do we even know if this is the right place?”

“I believe it is,” Thrawn said. “No other files were available on the Baron’s datapad for us to see, so I doubt there is another hangar from which the operation could have been run.”

“That’s if this Lobot fella sent Raynor all the info,” Eli said shrewdly. “What if he’s Nightswan’s plant?”

“That is certainly a possibility,” Thrawn replied. “Our next best course of action is to attempt to speak with him, and with Lady Dormund.”

Eli shot him a look. “Careful. I have a feelin’ we don’t wanna be on the Baron’s bad side regarding her.”

“You are correct.” Thrawn turned from Eli and began to slowly pace around the office, thinking. “The Revolution Gala may prove to be our best chance at making those connections.” Thrawn paused his pacing, something catching his eye on the floor. He stooped to pick it up.

“What is it?” Eli asked, standing and crossing to him.

“Some sort of packaging,” Thrawn said, handing the scrap of plasti-film to Eli.

“Looks like those little packets of nerve-stim bacta they have down in the medbay,” Eli said, turning it over in his hands. He carefully stuck a finger inside it’s torn corner. “Fresh, too. Not more than a couple days old, or it would have dried out. Someone who worked here had some nerve damage?” He looked hopefully at Thrawn.

“Possibly,” Thrawn said, taking the packaging back and carefully placing it in his pocket. His mind jumped back to their meeting with Dormund, and her prosthetic eye. Could she have other injuries he hadn’t noticed? “Regardless, Dormund should be our next target of investigation.”

“And Lobot,” Eli said with a frown. “We should probably start with him. Less chance of the Baron gettin’ mad at us.”

“Either course would prove fruitful,” Thrawn said. “Come. Let us rejoin the Baron. Our two hours is nearly up.”

“Alright,” Eli said, and they turned and walked back into the main hangar. The Baron was still on his comm, but it looked like the call wasn’t going well. Eli grimaced. “Hopefully our accommodations aren’t far from here.” He glanced at Thrawn. “After we get settled, wanna grab some dinner?”

Thrawn hesitated. The urge to immediately bury himself in his datapad and update his notes was strong. But as he glanced at Eli, the setting sun streaming through the open hangar doors catching the man's unruly brown curls just so, he smiled.

“Certainly,” Thrawn said, and Eli grinned back. They could do little more today without the Baron’s assistance, and dinner would give them time to plan for Gala tomorrow. His notes could wait until after they ate.

Or even perhaps until the morning, Thrawn thought with another small smile as Eli’s fingers lightly brushed his hand as they climbed into the speeder, the Baron still jabbering away on his comm. They had to _get settled_ in their accommodations, after all.


	6. Sorry about the blaster.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightswan keeps himself appraised of events. Voche and Xact have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't slept yet, so it's technically still Friday, okay?
> 
> Edit to add - so I wrote this hella late to keep up with my self-imposed update deadline, and I handle character development with the skill of a lumberjack dancing to swan lake. Take the spirit of it, I guess.

Nightswan gave the little astromech a pat on its dome as it toddled away from him, beeping happily. Passerby on the platform shuffled out of its way, but no one spared it a second glance as they walked around it.

That was the nice thing about most droids. People didn’t notice them.

Nightswan pocketed the datacard it had given him and casually made his way down the next few levels to his apartment. He was anxious to see what the droid had observed on the landing platform, but knew that moving with apparent haste would make him stand out.

The shadows had grown long by the time he stepped inside his apartment - the bare space looking even more drab now that he had packed up his scant belongings into a few crates and stacked them by the door. Fortunately, the apartment had come furnished, and he sat heavily at the old dining table and popped the card into his datapad.

It was not without trepidation that he reviewed the footage. The droid’s schedule meant that Nightswan had to wait some hours before the delivery could be made, and while he had factored the time gap (and the potential problems it could cause) into his plans, it had been a long few hours spent worrying if he would need to enact such failsafes.

But as he watched the scene unfold before him, his anxiety gave way to elation. He couldn’t have wished for a better scenario.

At first, the vicious-looking ship Dormund and her cronies arrived in had given him pause. Surely they realized such a ship didn’t fit their image; had Fate missed something in xir intel? But regardless of Upper Strata’s reason for their transportation, its presence had worked beautifully in Nightswan's favor. Almost the moment Thrawn and his poor aide had touched down, the ship had drawn their attention. Nightswan quickly discarded the myriad of plans he had concocted to arrange a meeting between the two groups - it was a stroke of luck they arrived at almost the same time on the same platform, one he would readily accept. It was almost _too_ perfect, and he resolved to comb over the rest of his scheme with a careful eye, lest his luck tip the other way.

Nightswan was pleased to see he had been correct in guessing Thrawn’s travel intentions. The admiral had come almost completely alone, though Nightswan made a note to research his aide, Vanto, if he was remembering the name correctly. The man had to be important to Thrawn, for the Admiral to have both worked almost exclusively with him on Cyphar and brought him along now. But the admiral’s decision to forego a guard contingent and ISB lackey proved that he viewed their little battle as a personal one. That vendetta would make Nightswan’s plans at Scrim all the more fruitful.

Nightswan actually laughed aloud as he watched Thrawn miss the handful of social cues Dormund threw his way, letting his aide pick up his slack. He expected a reprimand when the aide, so much smaller than Thrawn, threw him a scornful glance at his poor manners, but if Thrawn harbored any displeasure with his aide’s blatant disagreement, he didn’t give voice to it.

Dormund didn’t seem to mind the admiral’s bad manners either, smoothly engaging the pair of them in polite conversation despite Thrawn’s pointed questions. Whoever she really was, she was excellent at playing the part of headstrong business woman, and for a fleeting second, Nightswan wondered if she could be of any use to him. But he quickly clamped the thought down. The plans for Scrim were already set, and besides, he had taken Fate’s job. He wouldn’t go back on his word.

The recording turned off as the double-doors to the platform swung shut (Nightswan grimaced at the Baron’s crude comment - Pyke or not, no one should have to subject themselves to that man), and he reclined in his hard chair, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the table. Part of him - the part that wanted to get to Scrim as soon as possible - wondered if he really needed to carry out the next phase of his plan. It was risky, and if the knowing gleam in Thrawn’s eye was anything to go by, Dormund was already well within the admiral’s sights.

But Dormund’s confidence on the landing platform convinced him otherwise. The argument with Doss had clearly riled her, but she had pulled on her professional veil without so much of a blink when she faced Thrawn and his aide. She was good, and she might be good enough to avoid Thrawn’s ire, should Nightswan not press the issue.

No, he thought to himself with a sigh. He wasn’t one for half measures, and as it stood right now, too much would be left to chance. Setting his teeth, he pulled out his comm and got to work.

 

\---

 

“Who in blazes is calling you now?” Voche ground out as she pulled pin after pin out of her hair, kicking off her heels and practically stomping through the antechamber of their shared suite. Dinner with the Baron had gone well, in the Baron’s eyes, all the way until Voche had to feign a headache at Bespin’s thin atmosphere to escape his grubby clutches. She wanted nothing more than a shower (and possibly some disinfectant) to wash the feeling of his slimy hand off her thigh, but she had a feeling that no matter what she did, the stench of his cheap cologne would linger for days.

Xact didn’t bother to reply to her grumbling, merely shooting her a scathing look as he turned and exited the suite for the hallway, answering his comm in the most pompous voice imaginable.

“Probably just coordinating some deliveries,” Jax said soothingly from the couch over their glass of wine. Voche plopped down next to them, gratefully accepting the half-full glass as they leaned over to pour a fresh one for themselves.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered after she took a long sip. “It’s risky enough him even being here in the first place. People might recognize him.”

“Boss appreciates efficiency,” Jax said calmly, but Voche could catch the hint of agreement in their tone. Voche nodded, closing her eyes and relaxing against the couch. She liked Jax. Apart from being a brilliant pilot, they had no ulterior motives. They hailed from a no-name, dust ball of a planet in the Outer Rim, and had hooked up with the Pykes for a simple reason - they wanted to fly. Having achieved that goal, running whatever job the Pykes asked of them, they boasted no other ambitions. Flying for the Pykes could be boring or exciting, depending on the competency of whatever lackey you were flying for at the time, and Jax liked the work.

In fact, Voche credited the success of their last job (or rather, their ability to salvage what had been a poorly planned operation in the first place) to only herself and Jax. But Jax disliked taking the credit for it, not wanting to be asked to take a larger stake in the Pykes’ organization. And while Voche didn’t want to admit ill of her friend, for all Jax’s talent behind a yoke, they were better off behind the scenes. The problem with honest folks is that they lied poorly, which didn’t suit them to the kind of high-stakes dealings the Pykes ran.

And so, to Voche’s frustration, she shared the accolades with Xact.

Voche was of the opinion that ambition was healthy, but ought to be moderated. Too much ambition invited disaster, as she had learned from personal experiences. And while she wasn’t about to unload her life story on Xact in order to spark some caution in the man, she wasn’t above tempering his drive when it threatened her work.  

“We need to present a proper front at the Gala tomorrow, and that won’t work if you’re off running deals during dinner,” Voche said as Xact re-entered the suite a few minutes later.

Xact rolled his eyes as he crossed to the liquor cabinet and made to pour himself a glass. “You stick to your job, and I’ll stick to mine.”

Voche didn’t reply, willing herself to take a deep breath as she watched him select an expensive brandy and pour a large helping into a tumbler.

“Besides,” he said, turning around and leaning against the short bar next to the cabinet. “It’ll make us look better if I’m up and about. Business doesn’t stop because of dinner, and as your aide, it’ll be my job to handle those important calls.” He took a long draught of the brandy, and Voche’s cybernetic caught the faint flush of his cheeks. “And it’s not like _you_ can make these deliveries anyways.”

She chose to ignore his self-righteous tone, as though he thought turning a backroom spice deal was hard. She could tell he was trying to get a rise out of her. “What happened to all your trepidation about those two Imperials showing up, then?” She asked, rising from the couch and crossing to join him at the bar. If he was trying to annoy her, a helping of the brandy for herself wouldn’t go amiss. Stars knew she deserved it after enduring dinner with Baron Raynor.

Xact scoffed, scooting over to lean against the wall so she could grab a tumbler for herself. “Please. I’m sure you handled them the same way you handled the Baron Administrator. How was _dinner_ , by the way?”

Voche felt anger churn in her gut at Xact’s tone, but she willed herself to calm. “Fine,” she said curtly, pouring herself a serving and setting down the bottle of brandy a tad too harshly. “He suspects nothing.”

“You must work fast, then,” Xact said casually, and Voche turned her gaze to him. He wasn’t looking at her, instead studying his own glass with a small smile playing on his lips.

“What do you mean?” She asked icily, crossing her arms. She caught Jax sit forward on the couch out of the corner of her eye, but paid the pilot no mind as she stared at Xact.

“I just mean, I thought we wouldn’t see you back here until later tonight,” he said casually, finally bringing his gaze to hers, a disgusting smirk on his face. “But I guess the Baron’s a quick--”

The rest of his reply became a startled grunt of pain as Voche stepped forward and punched him in the gut, then brought her other arm up against his neck, pinning him to the wall. She was mindful not to press _too_ hard - her cybernetic was far firmer than her flesh arm, and she didn’t want to cause any lasting harm.

Just enough harm to get her point across.

“Voche,” Jax’s voice came warningly from the couch as Xact gurgled, face reddening as he struggled under her iron grip. Voche caught the sound of Jax pulling their blaster from its holster, but she ignored it. She stepped into the small puddle of cool brandy at her toes from Xact’s dropped glass, standing nearly flush against him.

“Just a minute, Jax. Gonna have a little chat here.” Voche called over her shoulder before leaning in close to Xact. His hand drifted to the blaster strapped to his side, and Voche pressed a little harder against his throat. He froze.

“If you _ever_ ,” she hissed through clenched teeth into his ear, “insinuate that’s how I operate ever again, I will send what’s left of you back to Kessel in a box. Got it?” She lessened the pressure on his neck, and Xact nodded.

“I said _got it_?” She growled.

“I got it!” Xact choked out, and Voche released him, stepping away as he coughed and gagged, rubbing at his throat. 

“You didn’t think I would see you take that call,” she said conversationally as she turned. "Since apparently you didn't think I'd be back this early." She picked up her glass from the bar and settled back on the couch with Jax, who kept their blaster trained on Xact. The pilot didn’t relax until Xact finished glaring at Voche, then stooped to pick up his dropped glass and turn to refill it.

“You’re lucky the boss needs you to finish the job,” he growled from the bar, ignoring her comment.

“I could say the same for you,” Voche shot back testily, ignoring Jax’s placating hand on her arm.

“I’m in charge of this operation,” Xact spat, whirling around, but Voche cut him off again.

“You’re in charge of the operation, but we both have the same instructions. Running side deals isn’t part of it.” She said coldly.

“She’s right,” Jax cut in before Xact could reply, to Voche’s surprise. “I get it if the boss wants you to make a delivery or two, but runnin’ off on your own isn’t a good idea.”

It was rare for Jax to have an opinion about the job, and Voche could tell that gave Xact pause. But the flicker of hesitation passed, and his face became stony.

“I’m not stupid,” Xact said, trying and failing to not sound petulant. “And if I think making a connection on Bespin is a good idea, I’m going to do it. This doesn’t involve you,” he said, turning toward his bedroom. “So keep your fake nose out of it.”

Voche laughed as he stomped away, and Jax turned to stare at her, confused.

“My nose,” Voche said, still chuckling. “My nose isn’t a prosthetic. Kinda wish it was, though,” she said, shaking her head ruefully and leaning closer to Jax, who put a kind arm around her shoulders. “Then maybe I could have ignored how bad the Baron’s cologne is.”

Jax chuckled and clinked their wine glass against her tumbler. “Whatever Xact says, you’re good at your job,” they said gently. “And sorry about the blaster. Hopefully once this is done, neither of us will have to deal with him again.”

“We can only hope. And thanks for having my back,” Voche said, grateful for her friend. “I’d ask if you want to review the plan for tomorrow with me, but you’re lucky and get to enjoy the party while Xact and I do the leg work.”

“Yes, I am the lucky one,” Jax said. “But I’ll listen, if it helps.”

Voche smiled at them. “Thanks,” she said softly, pulling out her datapad and settling closer to the pilot. That was one of the great things about Jax, she thought as she started to review the itinerary for the Gala. When a person was honest, she knew their friendship was genuine.  


	7. Revolution Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eli and Thrawn get fitted for their Gala finery, and have another chat with Voche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially wanted to start the Gala in this chapter, but it would have been MASSIVE 
> 
> so
> 
> next time.

“I hate this,” Eli grumbled, loud enough for Thrawn to hear over the fitting-room walls. Upon seeing the stricken expression of the tailor who was currently measuring his inseam, he quickly clarified his statement.

“Not you, I mean,” Eli stuttered apologetically, ignoring Thrawn’s soft laugh drifting over the wall. “It’s just, I’m not used to all this…” He waived his hand awkwardly. “This fancy stuff.”

The tailor chuckled as he stood, making a note of Eli’s measurement on his datapad. “I understand, sir. No offense taken.” He gave Eli a small smile before turning to the pile of swatches he had brought into the fitting room with him. “Now for the trousers…?” He held up two small squares of fabric, one a rich gold and the other a deep red. Eli peered at them for a moment before pointing wordlessly to the gold.

“Got it.” The tailor set the swatches down and made another note on his pad, and Eli sighed. The fitting was already awkward enough without the odd secrecy Thrawn insisted upon. Last night, Thrawn had told Eli his plan for the Gala, and like almost every plan Thrawn came up with, it was borderline ridiculous.

Thrawn agreed with Eli’s assertion that making their presence known at the Gala would hinder their ability to properly investigate. Even though it was a masquerade ball, showing up alongside the Baron would tip off any government officials they wanted to subtly question (such as Lobot) that they were Imperials, regardless of their dress. Hell, even costumed, Thrawn was remarkable enough that anyone from the Baron’s welcoming party would likely be able to recognize him.

Thrawn, of course, had a solution.

Officially, Eli wasn’t going to the Gala at all. The story was that Eli was going to fall mysteriously ill later that afternoon, and unfortunately not be well enough to attend. Thrawn would arrive without him, and stay with the Baron for as long as he saw fit. Eli would arrive after Thrawn, with forged invitation and scan-docs courtesy of Colonel Yularen. He would be free to investigate whomever he or Thrawn saw fit, communication made possible thanks to a hidden ear-piece.

Eli had mostly agreed that part of the plan made sense, even if it did make him a bit nervous. Thrawn always seemed to think highly of Eli’s acting skills, despite Eli’s belief to the contrary.

But the final bit just seemed excessive to him.

Thrawn had insisted that he not know what Eli was going to wear to the Gala. His logic was that if he did know and recognized him, anyone observing Thrawn might catch the recognition, which would expose Eli and tumble the whole scheme.

Personally, Eli felt that Thrawn’s powers of observation were great enough that he would recognize Eli regardless. To top it off, Thrawn’s facial and body expressions were subtle enough that he doubted anyone else would be able to read the Chiss. But Thrawn was thorough and had insisted upon it, which was why Eli was now attempting to communicate his outfit choices to the poor tailor with nods and gestures.

Upon arriving at the shop, they had told the tailor that they wished their outfits to be a surprise to each other, so thankfully, the man was understanding. But Eli still felt awkward.

"You’re not the only one not used to this sort of thing,” the tailor said as he reorganized the swatches. “With the Gala only happening every fourteen years, we’ve been getting all sorts of people who’ve never had to dress for such an event.” He let out a chuckle and held up a swatch of heavy black fabric. “Just this morning, we had a fellow come in who absolutely insisted his outfit be all black, mask and all.” He gestured dramatically as he tossed the swatch back down, as though it had offended him. “Seriously, who wears all black to a party? It’s depressing!”

Eli didn’t know how to best reply to the fashion analysis, so he simply chuckled weakly as the tailor moved behind him and instructed him to hold out his arms.

“I think black may be elegant,” Thrawn said casually from outside the fitting room.

“On some people, sure,” the tailor replied, fiddling with Eli’s cuff. He held the measuring tape in his teeth, and Eli was surprised to hear that his speech wasn’t impeded at all. Likely years of practice.

“Like on you, yes, it would look lovely against your skin,” the man went on placidly, still speaking to Thrawn. “Plus, you know how to carry yourself. You’ve got that regal confidence, you know?” Eli felt himself blush a bit at the tailor’s casual assessment of Thrawn. Then again, the man wasn’t wrong. “But this guy? No, he’s going to look like a bandit, I promise you that.”

“Maybe that’s the look he’s goin’ for?” Eli asked as the tailor jostled him - apparently Eli’s uniform wasn’t cooperating.

The tailor laughed. “Maybe. Then again, it’s not my place to judge.” He gave up tugging on the cuff and stepped around to Eli’s side. “Can you take the tunic off? The fabric’s too thick and I can’t get a proper measurement.”

"Sure,” Eli said, hurriedly undoing the tunic and shrugging it off. Anything to get this over with faster.

But as he tossed the garment onto the bench beside him, he caught sight of his reflection and froze.

He and Thrawn were always careful not to leave marks that could be easily seen. They had long since learned where each other's uniform collars stopped, and had never had an issue looking presentable for duty. But standing there in his undershirt, the bruises and bite marks adorning his neck and collarbones from last night were in full view.

Eli blushed furiously as he noticed the tailor catch sight of them and raise his brows, giving Eli a sly smile.

"Already got a head start on the Revolution festivities, then?” The tailor said, offering Eli a conspiratorial wink before stepping behind him again to measure his shoulders.

"Uh, yes.” Eli stammered lamely, and thankfully the tailor seemed to notice his discomfort. The man gave a small chuckle, but didn’t say anything else on the subject as he continued his work.

A few agonizing minutes later, the tailor released him from his clutches after confirming Eli’s choices and sending the information to the garment fabricator. Eli shook his head ruefully at Thrawn’s quirked brow as Thrawn moved to take his place in the dressing room.

“I hate this,” Eli reiterated between clenched teeth as they passed each other, and Thrawn chuckled.

"It will be worth it, Commander,” Thrawn said with a smile as he turned to face the tailor. “Shall I remove my tunic as well? The material is standard across ranks.”

“Thank you; makes my job easier,” the tailor said gratefully, and Eli waited until the door to the fitting room was firmly shut before grimacing. _It better be worth it,_  Eli thought to himself, ignoring the tailor’s knowing chuckle drifting over the fitting room wall.

Thirty minutes later, they were walking down the corridor that led to their shared suite, Eli still feeling frazzled from the appointment.

"I still don’t know why we couldn’t have just taken measurements ourselves and sent them over,” Eli grumbled. “Would’ve saved a chunk of time.”

“We have nothing better to do before the Gala,” Thrawn replied. “And besides, picking out a mask was enjoyable.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Eli begrudgingly agreed. He had enjoyed looking over the selection the tailor had assembled based on his color choices for the outfit, surprised at the variety and complexity of the pieces. “I think you’ll like the one I picked.”

“Do not give me any hints,” Thrawn said warningly. “I do not wish to compromise the plan.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Eli replied with a chuckle. He had chosen one styled after a beast the tailor noted as a varactyl, with bright red and gold plumage that crested his head and descended over his shoulders. It was more of a cowl than a mask, and the tailor agreed that the feathers would blend nicely into the red cape he had chosen for the outfit. “I’ll be interested to know your thoughts on it later, though.”

“I’m sure it will be lovely,” Thrawn said. “And I am curious to learn what you will think of my choice.”

Eli laughed. He could hardly imagine Thrawn in anything else other than his uniform or workout wear - they rarely had a chance to don anything else. He tried to picture the admiral in the varactyl mask, and failed. It was simply too outrageous.

"I’ll be sure to let you know,” Eli said, trailing off as he recognized a figure approaching them at the other end of the corridor. “Why is she here?” He muttered quietly to Thrawn.

“I could ask the same of you!” Voche Dormund called, and Eli felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Thrawn stiffened beside him. How had she heard him again?

Voche chuckled as they closed the distance to each other and gave Eli a knowing smile. She must have noticed his discomfort, and gestured gracefully to her face.

"The mining accident that took my eye also took my hearing,” she said, not unkindly as she stopped in front of them. “When I had it restored I opted for a bit of an… upgrade.” She smiled warmly at them, then nodded down the corridor. “Is everything alright? I hope whatever has brought you to Bespin is going well.”

“Our work progresses slowly,” Thrawn said. “Unfortunately, we have been delayed in our activities, and so were returning to our rooms before lunch.”

“Oh!” Dormund smiled at them again. “I didn’t realize you were staying here as well. I am sorry to hear your mission isn’t progressing as you’d like.”

"The delay was not unanticipated,” Thrawn replied. “How is your work with the mining contract?”

“The bidding doesn’t begin until tomorrow,” Dormund said, shaking her head. “I had hoped arriving early would allow me more time to learn more about the people and culture of Bespin, to give me an advantage in the negotiations.”

"And has it?” Thrawn asked pointedly, and Eli did his best to look innocent to offset Thrawn’s pressing tone. He didn’t want Thrawn scaring Dormund off.

Dormund chuckled, then rolled her eyes. “I’ve certainly learned a fair amount about the Baron, which could prove helpful.” She shook her head again. “More than I care to know about the man, really,” she added drily.

Eli stiffened, frowning as he remembered the Baron’s rude comment from the day before. “If you have any problems with him, please let us know,” Eli said earnestly, and Thrawn nodded beside him.

Dormund chuckled again. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said lightly, crossing her forearms across her stomach casually. “I’ve dealt with his kind before. But thank you for your concern. I’ve just got to get through the party tonight, then everything after will be official business.”

“Are you attending the Revolution Gala?” Thrawn asked, and Dormund nodded.

"I am. I’m just on my way now to the tailor to pick up my outfit; it wrinkled rather terribly on the trip here and I sent it to get pressed.”

"We will be in attendance as well,” Thrawn said, and Eli saw an opportunity.

“We’re goin’ as his guests, and we’ll be with him for probably most of the night,” Eli chimed in. “If he starts to bug you, just give us the signal and we can intervene, polite-like so he doesn’t get offended.”

Dormund cocked her head at him. “Thank you,” she said, and she gave Eli another warm smile. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, but it’s nice to know I have two fine men willing to protect me.” She chuckled, and Eli joined in.

“Just doin’ our jobs, ma’am,” Eli said, and Thrawn inclined his head.

"I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get going, or I’m going to be late,” Dormund said, extending a hand for a shake. Eli was surprised at her firm grip, but remembering how she had practically dragged him down the platform yesterday, he realized he should have expected it. The woman ran a mining company, after all. “Thank you again for your kindness.”

"Of course,” Thrawn said, shaking her hand politely as well. “I look forward to tonight. Have a good afternoon.”

"You too.” Dormund gave them a final smile, then continued on down the corridor.

Thrawn was notably silent as they made their way to their suite, and didn’t speak again until the door had closed behind them.

"It is imperative we speak with Dormund regarding the smuggling operation,” Thrawn said, pacing in front of the couch as Eli relaxed into it.

"You think she knows somethin’?” Eli asked, kicking off his boots.

Thrawn paused his pacing, turning to stare purposefully at Eli. “She is not what she seems,” he said cryptically after a moment, then resumed his long strides across the suite. “Make sure to keep an eye on her, and any of her associates tonight. She may be tight-lipped around me, but hopefully your disguise will allow you more insight.”

Eli swallowed, then nodded firmly. Maybe Thrawn’s plan wasn’t so outlandish, after all. “Do you think the Baron will be a problem?”

Thrawn nodded absently. “He may, which could prove useful. Only time will tell.”

Eli huffed out a sigh. He hated waiting around with nothing to do, so he pulled out his datapad. “Wanna go over the plan one more time? We should add notes on what to do with Dormund, if needed.”

“Yes. I will also send word to Yularen, and see if he has any information on her.” Thrawn crossed to the couch and sat beside Eli, eyes burning. “I believe he was correct in assertion that this situation is more complicated than we first believed.”


	8. The Revolution Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eli investigates, others instigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big honkin' chapter as recompense for missing my update schedule! 
> 
> MASSIVE shoutout to Badgerandk - I've been losing steam, but their kind words and encouragement have been so, so welcome <3 <3 Check out their stuff if you havent! They're the entire reason I like fairytale AUs now!!

“I take it all back - I _love_ this,” Eli said, staring approvingly at Thrawn. 

Thrawn chuckled, turning to examine his reflection in the bedroom mirror once more. The knee-length black cape he had chosen swirled behind him as he did so, and the effect was striking. He deftly adjusted the seam on his trousers, which matched the sleek black of his cape and fell in a clean, straight line to the top of his polished boots. Tucked into the high-waisted trousers was what appeared to be a simple white dress shirt, but upon closer examination boasted intricate, swirling detailing in a shimmering white thread. It's collar was low-cut, but not immodestly so, revealing the smooth blue of Thrawn’s chest. 

Eli hadn’t commented on the small tin of make up the tailor had included when he delivered their outfits. It seemed as though the man had added it without consulting Thrawn - the admiral had examined it with a mild look of surprise before setting it aside. But it matched Thrawn’s skin perfectly, and smoothly covered up the scandalous bruise that would have been visible under the shirt’s low-cut collar. 

“And for the final touch…” Thrawn pulled the top off a small velvet box, and brought out the mask he had chosen. 

Like his shirt, it appeared simple. It was a form fitting, stiff black mask, shaped to cover his forehead, nose, and cheekbones, and sported a delicate set of black hooks similar to what one would find on a pair of glasses so as not to dishevel the hair of the wearer. Thrawn ignored Eli’s outstretched hand in a silent request to examine it; instead, he ran his finger under one edge of the thin mask, seemingly searching for something. 

A moment later, there was a faint click of a switch being activated, and the mask seemed to emit a faint glow. Eli watched with bated breath as soft, nebulous shapes began to appear, illuminated in varying shades of gray as they gently curled across its dark surface like wisps of smoke. The effect was mesmerizing - one thin swirl would appear, lazily ascending the surface and disappearing, only to be replaced by another coiling tendril. 

“I take it you find it acceptable?” Thrawn asked.

Eli watched, transfixed, as another wisp of smoke disappeared along the edge of the mask before turning his gaze to Thrawn. “It’s perfect.” 

Thrawn offered him his signature sly smile before turning off the mask and gently placing it on the bedside table. “One last check of the comms before I go.”

“Sure.” Eli double-checked the comm frequency and encryption as Thrawn attached a small mic to the inside of his mask just under the edge of one of his cheekbones. The mask had a small ridge on the underside for its own electronics, and Thrawn had likely chosen it for both its beauty and its ability to hide their secret comm. Eli planned to hide his mic beneath one of the feathers near his mouth, and unlike Thrawn, wouldn’t have to claim Imperial Navy necessity for wearing the ear bead - it would be hidden under his cowl. 

That done, Eli took a final look at Thrawn as the admiral slipped on his mask, activating it as he adjusted it on his ears. Much like the rest of his outfit, the effect was breathtaking. The swirls of smoke seemed to disappear into Thrawn’s hair, and his crimson eyes were like embers burning in a dying fire. 

“You’re beautiful,” Eli breathed, stretching up on tip-toes for a kiss. He felt scruffy in comparison, wearing his sleepwear and standing barefoot next to the statuesque Chiss. 

Thrawn chuckled, wrapping a cool hand around the back of Eli’s neck to pull him in for another kiss. “As are you, Eli.”

Eli pulled back, arching a brow. “You haven’t even seen my outfit yet.”

Thrawn smiled. “I do not need to. My statement is true regardless.”

Eli laughed and shooed Thrawn out of the bedroom. “Save the charm for the Baron, hot stuff.”

Thrawn paused at the door, turning to glare good naturedly at Eli. “Please do not insinuate that ever again.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Eli said, rolling his eyes. “Be safe. I’ll see you soon.”

“You as well. Remember to tread carefully around Dormund.”

Eli gave a firm nod, and Thrawn disappeared. He waited until he heard the sound of their suite door hiss shut before turning to open his own package from the tailor, begrudgingly pulling his thoughts from Thrawn’s hopeless romanticism to focus on the task at hand. 

Colonel Yularen had been unable to find anything useful on Voche Dormund, which in this case, was a red flag. Any and all documentation relating to her was tied to Upper Strata - it was as though she didn’t exist before the company was formed. 

Eli recalled the scant information Yularen had supplied them with as he dressed, willing himself to find a clue they might have missed. He thought back on their two conversations with the woman, running her offhand comments against the data Yularen had sent, but nothing jumped out to him. Upper Strata was a small conglomerate, cobbled together by a few seemingly unremarkable people from a handful of unobtrusive Outer Rim worlds. Their relative success appeared to be mostly due to the fact that there was little competition in the sector they occupied. In fact, the only problem the company seemed to have had was an explosion that occurred a few years back on a loading dock - some volatile gas having sparked as it was being packed aboard a freighter. Dormund was listed as having been injured, along with a few other workers, and it was that injury that consigned her to desk work. From there, she climbed the ranks of the small company to the position she now held. 

The report didn’t list exactly how Dormund had been injured, but Thrawn speculated that she had suffered significant burns to the right side of her body. Eli hadn’t been able to tell, but apparently Thrawn’s eyes could detect the difference in temperature between that side of her face and down her neck, the disparity likely caused by the artificial synthskin. Eli asked how much of her skin had been replaced, but Thrawn didn’t have an answer - through clothing, the difference couldn’t be perceived, if it was even there. 

Their research on cybernetic eyes had been interesting. Thrawn had asserted that if Dormund had opted for enhanced hearing, her eye likely granted her special sight as well. Eli kept that in mind as he carefully hid his mic in his mask, taking special care to touch and ruffle other areas of it was well. It was impossible to tell what ends of the visible spectrum Dormund had chosen to enhance, but their research had shown that some implants could pick up on bodily fluids and other microbes that might be present on Eli’s hands. If she was able to see such things, fussing with other parts of the mask would throw off any suspicions she might have.

Why Thrawn was so insistent they avoid arousing suspicion from Dormund, Eli had no idea. Yes, she was interesting, and the circumstances of her position odd, but that wasn’t entirely unexpected in this part of the galaxy. The Outer Rim was a lawless place compared to the Mid Rim and Core; there were a myriad of perfectly reasonable explanations for Dormund’s lack of paper trail. Her home world could lack the proper bureaucracy for keeping consistent records. She could be a petty criminal trying to get her life back on track under a new name. Hell, she could just be someone who wanted to start over after a rough childhood - there were no shortage of folks like that in that part of space. 

All that aside, nothing in their research indicated she was in any way related to Nightswan. In fact, the only connection was that her company was bidding for a stake in a tibanna operation.

Eli turned that bit of information over in his mind as he strode down the corridor to the rideshare platform of their hotel, doing his best to ignore how his heeled boots pinched at his toes as he walked. The rest of his outfit was surprisingly comfortable - soft red trousers and untucked crimson tunic fitting him nicely, complimented by a lightweight, gold cape that fell to his calves. He caught his reflection a few times in passing windows and had to fight a grin every time, marveling at how the red, orange, and gold feathering of his mask and cowl looked less like plumage and more like flame in the glow of Bespin’s setting sun. 

As Eli spied his hailed speeder weaving towards him around other traffic, a bulky mining freighter caught his eye, sparking an idea. Nightswan smuggled tibanna. Upper Strat mined tibanna. If Dormund’s only viable connection to Nightswan was the mining bid, then by extension, the competition for the bid would also be worthy of their scrutiny. 

Once he was settled into the back of the speeder, Eli pulled out his datapad and accessed the files Thrawn had requested from the Baron regarding the bid. At first, Raynor had been hesitant to provide the information, but eventually conceded when Thrawn alluded to the fact that if the Baron gave them the information, they needn’t speak with Dormund. 

Eli felt his brow furrow as he read through the data. There was only one other competitor left for the bid - apparently there had been several rounds of bidding, and the negotiations set to begin tomorrow were the final round.

The competition in question was a company ran by one Lando Calrissian. Eli knew the name - the man had been a thorn in the Empire’s side for years, smuggling and swindling and generally raising hell wherever he went, intentionally or not. He painted himself as a carefree, gambling playboy, but Eli knew better than to believe that facade. The man had escaped official Imperial discipline enough times for Eli to know he was deceptively intelligent. Certainly intelligent enough to work with Nightswan.

Eli pulled up the files the Empire had on the man, mind working furiously and feeling as though he was on the edge of a breakthrough. But as he studied the files, no such breakthrough came. Despite having a datatrail parsecs long, it was an inconsistent one in terms of goals or motivation. 

Well. The man was certainly motivated by profit. But all the schemes he had been linked to ranged from dangerous coaxium smuggling to forging land deeds on resort worlds. He seemed to want to settle down, but kept getting run off by local law enforcement or gangsters. He would make a mountain of credits running a job, then turn around and lose them on a failed venture just as quickly. Apparently this current venture - a foray into mining, with a sizable chunk of his company also invested in droid manufacturing - was the next in a long list of attempts to make it big. 

Eli sighed, shutting down his datapad and staring out the window, trying to think. As it stood right now, both Dormund and Calrissian had the same, untenable connection to Nightswan - the tibanna. Calrissian had a checkered past, and Dormund had no past at all. Could Nightswan be working with one of them? Or even, _both_ of them? 

Eli scowled, grateful that his mask covered his expression as the speeder pulled up to the enormous building that housed the Gala. He really wished he could talk to Thrawn about all this, but it would be far too distracting and complicated to discuss through their hidden comms. It would have to wait. 

At the sight of the towering building, lit up in a myriad of colors and surrounded by speeders disgorging party goers in vibrant, elegant, or exuberant outfits, Eli felt his scowl deepen as he remembered the nightmarish parties of Ascension week. But he had a job to do, so Eli sighed and straightened his shoulders, striding towards the entrance with what he hoped was arrogant confidence.

The attendants scanned his invitation and identification, and admitted him without batting an eye. Eli let out a long breath, not realizing he had been holding it, and nearly stopped in his tracks as he crossed the threshold into the main ballroom. 

Ever since Thrawn had told him they would have to attend the Revolution Gala, Eli had been mentally preparing himself for what he assumed would be a repeat of Ascension Week. Awkward wading through throngs of people with noses upturned, rehearsing the inane small talk he would need to perform in order to mingle with beings who would be annoyed with his presence, eating dainty finger foods that hardly qualified as food in the first place, all while fighting the crushing boredom of a polite soirée. 

He wasn’t expecting _this._

First of all, it was _loud._  There was no hum of quiet conversations held in small groups - people were laughing and shouting at each other to be heard over the din of a massive band playing on a raised dais on the opposite side of the massive space. There were groups of noisy, laughter-laden conversation, and people moved and flitted between them like bees bumbling from one colorful bunch of flowers to another, inserting themselves in a throng then drifting away with no sense of purpose. 

All around were floating tables, supported by humming repulsorlifts that people pushed and pulled along with them as they cavorted around the space, laden with drinks and plates of cakes or fruit or delicious smelling meats. A wide dance floor was centered in the ballroom, apparently surrounded by a force-field preventing party-goers from dragging their tables onto it so the space would remain open for dancers to twirl and shimmy with drunken abandon. Droids adorned with baubles and streamers moved around the rancorous party-goers, passing out drinks every color of the rainbow.  

As Eli’s eyes adjusted to the riot of colors before him, he realized that Thrawn’s electronic mask was one of many, and perhaps the most muted compared to the bright, flashy ones Eli spied as he slowly skirted the edge of the center throng. For a moment, Eli was almost overwhelmed by the sheer sensory overload of the place before he noticed the walls of the ballroom were lined with plush couches. They seemed to be intended as areas for party-goers to disengage from the insanity of the center, and Eli made his way over to one such cluster, meekly accepting a drink from a passing droid. 

“Yoo-hoo! Over here!” A voice called, and Eli turned to see a man lounging on one of the low couches waving at him. Eli frowned, glancing around before turning back to the man and pointing at himself, confused.

“Yes, the cutie in the varactyl outfit! Get over here!” The man beamed under his own blue, feathery mask, his bright white teeth a brilliant contrast to his dark skin and bushy mustache, gesturing for Eli to join him. 

Bemused, Eli crossed over to the cluster of couches, jostled by a passing group of giggling women and nearly spilling his drink. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” the man said, still grinning as Eli reached him. He scooted over on the couch, making space and patting the cushion next to him. He grabbed a hookah hose he had set down as Eli settled beside him, still bemused, and Eli watched as the man took a long draw on the hookah and blew out dozens of smokey ‘O’s. 

“I just _love_ your outfit,” the man said as the fruit-scented smoke dissipated, offering Eli the hose. Eli shook his head politely, instead sipping his drink, and the man shrugged. 

“Not for everyone, not for everyone,” he said placidly, taking another draw as he peered at Eli. Eli had a feeling his brow was quirked thoughtfully beneath his blue mask, and he got the uncomfortable feeling he was being appraised. “My name is Lando Calrissian,” the man said smoothly, and he continued speaking as Eli stiffened, eyes going wide. “May I ask what a lovely Imperial such as yourself is doing at a party like this?”

Eli froze, his drink halfway to his mouth, and Calrissian laughed. “Whoops! I take it you’re not _officially_ here, then?”

Stunned, Eli minutely shook his head side to side, staring at Calrissian. What was he going to do? In the speeder, he’d had half a mind to track the man down and ask him some questions, but his cover had just been royally blown. 

“How… How did you know I’m an Imperial?” Eli sputtered, thinking fast and casually tucking a hand into his pocket, turning on his comm to Thrawn. 

 _“I’m listening,”_ came Thrawn’s quiet voice in his ear. 

Calrissian laughed again. “I saw you and your friend walking out of Sky Fashions yesterday,” he said, sipping his drink through a glowing straw. “I must say, you gave me quite a fright.”

Eli frowned and raised a brow in question, before forgetting he was wearing a mask and cocking his head instead. “I thought you were here for me!” Calrissian said dramatically. “So of course, I did some digging, talked to my contacts, and found out you were, in fact, not here for me.” 

“Should we be? You are _Lando Calrissian_.” Eli asked, and the man looked scandalized. Eli caught Thrawn’s slight ‘ _hmm_ ’ of interest in his ear. 

“Of course not!” Calrissian said, putting a hand on his chest as though wounded. “I’m just a businessman, after all!”

“Right.” Eli said dryly. Even if Calrissian knew who he was, the man seemed willing enough to chat. “Sounds like you’ve got a guilty conscience, though. Anything you wanna share?” 

Calrissian chuckled. “Oh, I certainly have _lots_ I’d like to share with you,” he said with a wink, and Eli ignored the quiet huff of disapproval from Thrawn. “But not until after a few more drinks. And besides, you haven’t told me your name.” 

Eli sat back, taking another sip of his drink as Thrawn spoke quickly. _“Do not tell him your name.”_ Eli suppressed a sigh. Of course he wasn’t going to do that.

“And by that, I mean the name you’re using tonight. I know you’re Eli Vanto,” Calrissian went on, chortling again at Eli’s second look of shock. 

“What-- How?” Eli sputtered, Thrawn again humming with interest in his ear. 

“Come,” Calrissian said, beckoning Eli to lean close to him as he set the hookah hose down across his legs and pointed across the room. Eli frowned, but leaned over, ignoring how Calrissian casually placed his other arm over Eli’s shoulders to follow the man’s pointed finger. 

“The ‘borg standing next to your friend and our dear Baron Raynor,” Calrissian whispered in his ear. “The Baron doesn’t deserve him. He’s been kind enough to keep me apprised of the… goings on ‘round here.”

Eli had to squint through the throng of dancers, but could just spy Lobot standing with Thrawn and Raynor at a hovering table across the hall. For a split second, Eli was distracted by just how _good_ Thrawn looked, standing casually with a hand in his pocket and lazily raising his drink to his lips. _“Find out if he knows why we are here,”_ Thrawn muttered in his ear, and Eli snapped his focus back to Calrissian. 

“And how much has Lobot told you about us?” Eli asked, leaning away and cringing at his blunt tone. 

Calrissian chortled again, releasing Eli but leaving his arm draped across the back of the couch. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the Baron know _I_ know you’re here about Nightswan’s smuggling ring,” he said, and it took all of Eli’s willpower to school his expression into a look of mild surprise, instead of horror. “I had wondered who was behind that particular ring - it ran much too smoothly to be one of the Baron’s operations.”

Eli’s mind was completely blank at that admission, and it was a good thing he had Thrawn to do the thinking for him. _"A_ _sk what he knows about Nightswan."_

“What do you know about Nightswan?” Eli blurted out, and Calrissian laughed again.

“Have you got a comm hidden in there?” Calrissian asked, leaning forward to peer more closely at Eli, eyes sweeping his feathered mask.

Eli sputtered, and Calrissian waived a hand dismissively, eyes glittering. “Every time you pause, your friend takes a drink. I assume he’s listening in and telling you what to say.”

Eli turned to look again at Thrawn, who again raised his drink to his lips. _“Be honest. He is well informed, and difficult to fool.”_

Eli sighed, frustrated at his own inability to play it cool. “Yeah,” he said, slumping back against the couch. “We were hoping to be able to do some digging tonight, with me bein’ incognito. Apparently I’m bad at it.”

“Hardly!” Calrissian said, shaking his head with good humor. “I only know who you are because one, you are adorable and I would remember that pout anywhere-” Eli heard Thrawn huff disapprovingly again, “And two, I’ve got an inside man keeping me updated. Unless any of Nightswan’s folks have seen you around before, I doubt you’ve been made.”

“You’ve got an inside man,” Eli said carefully. “What makes you think Nightswan doesn’t have the same?”

Calrissian scoffed. “Because the only inside man worth having is Lobot, and when Nightswan found out he was already on my payroll, he backed off. He doesn’t like me very much,” he said with a wink. “Says I don’t use my, ah… _business skills_ for the right causes. I had assumed he had given Bespin up entirely, until Lobot told me about all this nonsense.” He frowned slightly before continuing. “You’re going to have a hard time catching up with him. Even Lobot missed that ring until he decided to announce himself and give it up.”

“That’s par for the course for him,” Eli grumbled, chewing on all the information Calrissian had just dumped on him. This changed their game plan significantly. 

 _“Dormund is returning,”_ Thrawn whispered in his ear. _“I will not be able to speak freely. Keep your end open.”_ Eli glanced back across the room and saw Dormund striding towards Thrawn’s group, her long black dress billowing behind her. She had chosen the most basic of masks for the occasion, a simple strip of black cloth encircling her head with slits for her eyes, and instead seemed to have focused the rest of her costume on her outfit - as she placed a hand on Thrawn’s bicep, leaning forward to speak with the group, Eli saw her gloves were connected to her dress with broad swaths of cloth, as though she had wings. The effect reminded Eli of her ship, oddly enough; sleek, and possibly dangerous. 

“What is it about mysterious women,” Calrissian sighed, following Eli’s gaze. Eli turned and arched a brow at him, then remembered Calrissian couldn’t see his face.

“You mean Dormund?” Eli asked, glancing back at Thrawn in time to catch the admiral’s subtle approving nod before another man stepped in front of them to join their group, wearing a rather ugly lizard mask and staring down at a datapad.

“Yes, and what a woman she is! I wish I actually knew her,” Calrissian said, shaking his head ruefully. “When I asked her for a dance, she turned me down, and then our dear Baron Raynor chased me away,” He scowled so deeply Eli caught the tips of his brows peek out from under his mask’s eye-holes. “Even though I am supposedly one of his ‘special guests’.”

“I thought a man with your reputation was more… persistent,” Eli said casually. If Calrissian knew anything about Dormund, now was the time to get him talking. “You’ve given up on her entirely?”

Calrissian scoffed and shook his head. “No no, my dear boy, who do you take me for? The Baron? Despite my reputation, I do back off when told no,” He sighed dramatically. “No matter how deep the denial cuts.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance,” Eli said sympathetically. 

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Calrissian said, looking wistfully across the ballroom. “Regardless of her beauty, I do wish she would speak with me, business-owner to business-owner,” he said, leaning back more comfortably into the couch. His arm, Eli noticed, hadn’t left its position behind Eli on the back. ”I’d love to know how she got her company running so quickly without drawing the attention of law-abiding folks such as yourself.” He said casually.

Eli frowned as he sipped his drink. “What do you mean?”

Calrissian laughed, the boomy sound almost startling Eli. “My, perhaps I’ve said too much,” he said, raising his glass to clink it to Eli’s before draining it. “That’s the effect of these drinks, you know. They certainly make one loose with their words.” He finished pointedly, glittering eyes flicking to a server droid near them.

Eli rolled his eyes, then waived the server over. “You’re a funny man, Calrissian,” Eli said, grabbing two drinks and passing one over. “You know who I am, and why I’m here. You've been talking this entire time, and now you’re tightenin’ up?”

“Just trying to keep the party going!” Calrissian said, clinking his glass against Eli’s again. “And please, call me Lando. We are just chatting as friends, yes?”

“We are,” Eli reassured him quickly. Calrissian - Lando - certainly seemed to be a well-spring of information, and he didn’t want to scare him off. “And I am grateful for your help here.”

“Of course you are,” Lando said with a wink. “I can tell you want to know about Dormund. And I will tell you everything I know, but I am a businessman, after all. You must give me something in return.”

“Like what?” Eli said, glancing over at Thrawn. The man with the lizard mask was still in the way, but he could just barely make out Thrawn breathe a quiet _“Careful,"_ in his ear piece. 

“A dance.” Lando said, and Eli jerked his eyes back to him. Lando was gazing at him, a wry smile on his lips, but his expression turned thoughtful after a moment. “Of course, if I’m not your type, I’m sure we can work something else out.”

“I-- uh.” Eli stammered, glancing back to Thrawn, who was still hidden behind the lizard-man. “I’m not--”

 _“Do it,"_ Thrawn whispered, and Eli swallowed. 

“Sure,” he said, and he could swear he could imagine Lando quirking a brow under his mask. 

“You’re not sure?” Lando asked, grin returning, and Eli sputtered.

“No!” He said, his face reddening. “I mean, sure. Let’s dance.”

“Wonderful!” Lando said, knocking back the rest of his drink and holding his hand out to Eli. “I just _love_ this song.”

“Right,” Eli said, pausing before swallowing the rest of his own cocktail. _Stars_ , he was going to regret this. 

“And tell your friend not to worry,” Lando said conspiratorially as he pulled Eli to his feet and began leading him to the dance floor, still holding his hand and parting the crowd before them with practiced ease. “I’ll take good care of you.”

“I think that’s what he’s afraid of,” Eli grumbled without thinking, and both Thrawn and Lando chuckled. 

“Uh oh,” Lando said as he swung Eli around to face him, waiting for a polite nod from Eli before placing a hand on his waist as they began to dance. “Am I stepping on toes?”

Eli shot him a dark look from under his mask, and Lando laughed again, leading them through a quick waltz. Eli hadn’t danced in years, but the lessons he had taken in his youth on Lysatra quickly came back to him, and he found the step with ease.

“Right, I’m sure there’s regulations or something there,” Lando said blithely. 

“I'll bet you know a thing or two about Imperial regulations,” Eli shot back, and Lando grinned. 

“More than I care to!” He agreed. “But like I said, I’m just a businessman. Believe it or not, I do want to settle down. I’ll tell you what I know, and release you back to your… friend.” He shot Eli yet another wink (Eli wondered if he practiced the expression in the mirror every morning), and went on. “I don’t want to interfere with your investigation. Like I said, your cover is quite good.”

“Thanks,” Eli said drily once he returned to Lando’s grasp after a set of dizzying spins, his cape whirling behind him. 

 _“Do not return to me,"_ Thrawn said in his ear. Eli glanced around as they danced, but couldn’t see Thrawn anywhere. _“Not unless you have a reasonable excuse to do_ _so."_

“Who’s gonna talk to Dormund, then?” Eli hissed back, ignoring Lando’s look of bemusement. 

 _"She knows who you are,”_ Thrawn said, and Eli caught the hint of annoyance in his tone. _"It_ _is best we remain apart, in case I see anyone I am not free to approach."_

“Got it,” Eli said, and to his surprise, he caught the faint _click_ of Thrawn turning off his own comm. What was going on with him?

“Everything alright?” Lando asked casually, and Eli brought his attention back to the man.

“Yeah,” Eli said before sending Lando off on his own set of spins as the song ended. He caught Lando’s waist as he returned, and thought he could catch a faint glimmer of disappointment in his eyes as Eli declined to dip him as the rest of the dancing couples had on the final chord. “Now, you were gonna tell me about Dormund?”

“Certainly,” Lando said, making no move to depart the dance floor as the next tune started, this one slower than the previous. “But I see no reason why we can’t chat and dance at the same time?”

Eli rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, giving Lando a grudging smile as the other man beamed and pulled him closer, snaking an arm around Eli’s waist under his cape. It was going to be a _long_ night. 

 

\---

 

“Everything alright?” Dormund asked, peering at Thrawn over the rim of her shimmering cocktail. 

“Yes,” Thrawn said, tearing his gaze away from Eli and Calrissian as they made their way onto the dance floor. “Just enjoying the party.”

Dormund gave a low chuckle, continuing to gaze at Thrawn. “It certainly looks like your friend is,” she said casually, and Thrawn frowned beneath his mask.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, and Dormund shook her head. 

“I don’t know why you didn’t bring him with you, but with the way you’ve been looking at him, I’d say you wish he was by your side, and not in Calrissian’s clutches.”

“And in what way am I ‘looking at him’?” Thrawn asked pointedly. Dormund had noticed his glances towards Eli?

“Like you want to swoop in and take Calrissian’s place,” she said mildly. “Why is he off by himself? Didn’t you tell the Baron he was ill?”

Thrawn shrugged. “It was necessary we part for our investigation,” he said, knowing there was no point in denying Dormund’s deduction. Thrawn had been chagrined to learn Eli was correct in his assertion that Thrawn would recognize him the moment he walked in, resplendent in his fiery outfit, but Thrawn didn’t realize how problematic that recognition was until Eli began speaking with Calrissian. He had been doing his best to ignore the churn in his belly every time Calrissian blatantly flirted with the commander, and hadn’t realized his jealousy had been so apparent. “Am I truly that obvious?” 

Dormund chuckled. “No,” she said, reaching up and tapping the side of her face, right next to her cybernetic eye. “I can see your face flush whenever Calrissian lays a hand on him. You two are… close, then?” 

Thrawn felt his mouth harden into a thin line. “This is his first…” He had to fish for the correct Basic term. “Incognito mission. I am merely concerned for his safety.”

“Of course,” Dormund said, though the knowing twinkle didn’t leave her eye. “I apologize if I--”

“More drinks!” Baron Raynor cried, interrupting her as a server droid approached, bearing a tray laden with the Baron’s special requests. 

“For the beautiful Lady Dormund,” Raynor said, handing her another fizzing cocktail. “And our illustrious admiral!” He handed Thrawn a much smaller, less colorful drink, and completely ignored Dormund's assistant standing to the side of them. The man didn’t seem to mind though, and had earlier apologized for not engaging more fully with the group - Dormund had graciously allowed him to continue to work on his datapad, apparently managing some of their company’s business during the party. 

“Thank you,” Dormund said as she gracefully accepted the offered drink, and while she put her lips to the straw, Thrawn noted the level in the glass did not change. 

Thrawn found himself grateful that his mask hid his scowl as he listened to Eli and Calrissian dance, and realized that further eavesdropping would leave them even more compromised. The group was distracted by the Baron’s long list of toasts and didn’t notice Thrawn’s whispered instructions to his partner, and Thrawn forced his attention back on the group as they clinked their glasses.

“To good business, and beautiful women!” Raynor finished, face flushed from the alarming number of drinks he had already consumed. Thrawn caught the faint ringing of a comm through the din of the band, and the Baron fished one out of his pocket. 

“And speaking of beautiful women!” He shook his comm, then gave them a roguish wink before answering it and striding away.

“Thank the stars,” Dormund said as he left, and Thrawn chuckled. 

“Perhaps you should have taken up Calrissian’s offer for a dance,” he said, and Dormund chuckled as well.

“You really think that would stop him? At least Lando is gracious when you turn him down.”

“That is good to know,” Thrawn said drily, then silently cursed himself as the knowing twinkle returned to Dormund’s eye. 

“Ma’am,” Dormund's assistant, Doss, cut in before she could reply. “Would it be alright if I stepped out to make a call as well?”

Thrawn saw a frown flicker over her proud features before she gave him a gentle smile. “Of course, Xact. Thank you for staying on top of everything.”

He smiled back, but Thrawn didn’t catch any relief in his features. Had he missed his boss’s discomfort? “That’s why I’m here, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

He headed off in a different direction than Raynor, leaving Thrawn and Dormund alone with the stoic Lobot. The man hadn’t spoken said a word since they entered the ballroom, and Thrawn was itching to speak with him given what he had learned from Eli’s conversation with Calrissian. 

“You know, I do actually like this song,” Dormund said casually, cutting into his thoughts. “Would you like to dance?”

“If you do not mind risking the Baron’s ire,” Thrawn said, looking away from Lobot. Dormund met his eyes with a dark grin. 

“All the more reason to do so,” she said, holding out her hand and nodding to the dance floor. “Come. Maybe I can distract you from your friend. It looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

Thrawn followed her gaze and felt his stomach tighten as he caught sight of Eli leading Calrissian through a dramatic turn, their capes whirling in counterpoint around them.

“I’m sure he does,” Thrawn agreed, forcing a light tone and gently taking her hand to lead her to the floor. “You will have to show me the step; I am not familiar with this song.”

“Of course,” Dormund said, placing his hands on her waist as she turned to face him. Thrawn allowed her to lead them around the floor, surprised by her firm, but gentle command. Thankfully, they didn’t cross paths with Eli and Calrissian, and he briefly wondered if that was intentional on Dormund’s part. His mind wandered over her intentions as they silently danced, Dormund always taking the lead as a new song started and seeming to enjoy herself all the while. 

Thrawn had finally decided to ask about her connection to Calrissian when, to his frustration, they were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder from Lobot. 

“The fireworks are set to begin in fifteen minutes,” he said, standing like a traffic zag among the dancers as Thrawn and Dormund stopped beside him. “Although the Baron Administrator is still occupied, I have been directed to guide you to the observation platform.”

“Wonderful!” Dormund said, and Thrawn was surprised to find she wasn’t breathless after their several minutes spent dancing. “I’ve been looking forward to this all night,” she said, looping her arm through Thrawn’s as they made their way across the floor back to their hovering table. “It’s supposed to be spectacular.”

“I am looking forward to it as well,” Thrawn said, distracted as they neared the table. Eli was standing there, Calrissian by his side. 

“I can see why you turned me down - you were holding out for someone better!” Calrissian said, eyes bright and a flush appearing beneath his blue-feathered mask. 

Dormund chuckled by way of reply, and Thrawn caught Eli’s eye. He knew that look. _I have a lot to tell you_ , it said, and Thrawn gave a minute nod. 

“Will your assistant be joining us?” Lobot asked, turning his deadpan stare to Dormund.

“Well…” She trailed off, looking around. The slight frown Thrawn caught earlier had returned. “I thought he would be back by now, I’m so sorry.”

“It is not a problem,” Lobot said, pausing and gazing into the middle distance. “I have sent him the information for the lift and level he will need to join us.”

“Alright,” Dormund said. “Again, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would take so long.”

Lobot didn’t say anything, instead merely turning and leading the way out of the ballroom. 

Thrawn did his best to ignore the casual manner in which Eli and Calrissian chatted as they walked, Calrissian with one arm draped across Eli’s shoulders. Apparently, his discomfort was obvious to Dormund.

“Is Calrissian someone you’re actually looking into?” She whispered, stepping closer to Thrawn. In her heels, she was as tall as he, and merely had to lean over to speak into his ear.

“If the commander finds it necessary to speak with him, I trust his judgement,” Thrawn muttered back, barely audible, knowing Dormund’s enhanced hearing would pick it up. 

She nodded, then leaned over again. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to butt in on your duties,” she muttered, and Thrawn shrugged. 

“There is no harm in curiosity,” he replied. In truth, he wanted to know why she was so interested in it. “And I myself am curious as to what you may know about the man.”

“Perhaps we can speak later,” Dormund said conspiratorially, shooting Thrawn a knowing look. “You never did tell me exactly why you’re here. I wonder if it’s for the reason I think it is,” she said cryptically. Thrawn shot her a look, but she shook her head and nodded to Calrissian in front of them. 

“I will look forward to it,” he replied as they came up to the lifts. They didn’t speak further as Lobot ushered them in and it began to rise. 

“So are you guys as excited for this as I am?” Calrissian asked enthusiastically, jostling Eli next to him. 

“Oh, I am!” Dormund replied with equal enthusiasm. “I’ve heard the Revolution Celebration is supposed to be one of the best firework shows this side of the galaxy.”

“It is one of Bespin’s largest ceremonies,” Lobot chimed in unexpectedly. “We have consistently--” He cut himself off as the lift stopped. 

“My apologies.” Lobot said, stepping forward and pressing a key on the panel again. The lift didn’t move. He pressed another button, again with no response. 

“Is everything alright?” Dormund asked. She still hadn’t let go of Thrawn’s arm, and he could feel her tense beside him.

“It appears the lift has frozen,” Lobot said, staring into the middle distance again. “There is no response from the central computer. One moment please.”

They waited in silence as Lobot stood there, then the doors opened before them. 

“We can take the stairs to our destination,” Lobot said, stepping forward and gesturing for them to follow. They stepped out of the lift onto a dark, open platform, the sharp breeze fluttering their capes. “I apologize for the inconvenience; I have sent a notification to maintenance so our return will not be impeded.”

“Good man,” Calrissian said, clapping Lobot on the back. “Lead the way.”

They followed Lobot around the side of the building, the broad walkway lit only by the blueish moonlight, when suddenly Dormund stopped short, nearly jerking Thrawn off his feet. He turned to her, then caught the sound that had startled her. 

“Run!” She cried as four figures appeared over the side of the railing, zooming up and over with the aid of jetpacks. They landed on the platform and encircled the group, cutting off any escape attempt and brandishing their weapons menacingly, a collection of truncheons and stun-staves.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” one figure growled at Dormund, lighting their stun-staff with a flourish. All their faces were masked, but Thrawn could hear the sick grin in their voice. “Not until we’re done with you.”


	9. Sloppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two attacks, and a lot of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello not much to say other than this was hard to write because I'm bad at writing fighting but I think it works! Enjoy!
> 
> There is some... stabby violence. No mention of blood or gore, but just. Heads up.

“Now, we’ll make this real simple,” one of the masked figures to Thrawn’s left growled. The four attackers had stalked closer as the figure spoke, but Thrawn noted they didn’t seem to be the leader - as the attackers encroached upon their group, surrounding them in a small circle, they seemed to follow the lead of the smallest one to the right of the speaker. With each step she took, the others followed, and stopped their approach when she did. 

Thrawn filed that away for later. 

“If you’d be so kind as to hand us Ms. Dormund, we’ll be on our way,” the figure continued, gesturing with their truncheon to Voche. 

“What the hells is this about?” Voche snarled from behind Thrawn. At the figure’s demand, Eli and Thrawn had positioned themselves around her, with Lando following suit. Lobot hadn’t moved, seemingly frozen to the spot, and was now nearly face to face with one of the assailants. 

The masked figure scoffed. “Some debts come due. Now come on, and this won’t get… _ugly.”_

“If there is a debt, perhaps it can be settled another way,” Thrawn said mildly, positioning himself so he was further in front of Voche. “This hardly seems necessary.”

The figure barked out a laugh. “What, did you bring your brother-in-law to protect you, Voche? Letting him do all the--”

His words were cut off by the sound of a knife burying itself squarely in his chest. 

Time seemed to stand still. Thrawn turned his head to find Voche’s gloved hand extended, eyes burning with rage and chest heaving. He caught the slight, choked off sound of shock from Eli. He saw the rest of their attackers tense from the corner of his eye. 

“Go!” Barked the small woman, the leader, and suddenly the world was in motion again. 

Thrawn ducked as the small woman swung her own truncheon at him, and jinked sideways to continue to block Voche from her attack. But Voche had already moved, the fabric wings of her dress swirling behind her as she whirled to the side, the small woman hot on her tail. 

Thrawn made to pursue, intent on protecting Voche from the assailant, but was distracted by a blow to his shoulder. He spun around to face one of the other attackers, and caught sight of Eli and Calrissian engaging the third. Lobot had remained unassailed, standing stock straight with that faraway look in his eyes. Over his shoulder, he could hear the sounds of battle from Voche and the small woman, but he didn’t dare risk turning his eyes from his own attacker to observe the fight. Instead, he struck out quickly, aiming for what vulnerable points he could - their exposed neck, joints left open from gaps in what he now saw was rudimentary body armor - and all the while slowly rotating their positions so he finally had Voche in view again. 

Unfortunately, his battle and slow shifting of position had taken too long. 

“Cut it, or she dies!” The small woman cried out. She had managed to wrangle Voche in a headlock, the taller woman’s legs akimbo as she tried to stand in the smaller attackers grasp, snarling as the smaller woman pressed a blaster into the intricate curls of her up-do. 

“That’s right, nice and easy.” The woman said, nodding as Thrawn froze, arms still held up defensively. His attacker was breathing heavily, but had also frozen upon hearing his boss’s order. Thrawn heard the sounds of Eli and Calrissian releasing their own assailant, whom they had been on the verge of overpowering. 

Thrawn watched as the woman dragged Voche over to the attacker who first spoke, who was still laying in a heap on the ground. “Beta, get Delta out of here,” she said after glancing down quickly. Thrawn could just spy the slight rise and fall of his chest, and make out the sound of very labored breathing. “Take him to Fate.” The man in front of Thrawn backed away slowly. Once he had put enough distance between them, he turned and ran to the man with the knife in his chest. He carefully gathered his fallen comrade in his arms, then activated his jet pack and soared away over the railing, disappearing over the top of the building. 

“Gamma, come pat her down.” The smaller woman barked, and the attacker Eli had nearly managed to subdue crossed to Voche and the leader.

“Don’t you _dare--”_ Voche’s snarl was cut off as the woman pressed her blaster deeper against her skull, her hand oddly twitching around its thick grip. Voche acquiesced to the muzzle’s pressure as Gamma quickly ran their hands over her, finding and removing the sheath on her thigh where she had stored her knife. After quickly stripping off her gloves and checking the folds of her wings, the attacker nodded and backed away, empty handed. 

“Follow up with Fate. We’ll meet at the rendezvous at the assigned time.” Gamma nodded again and followed the leader to the railing as she dragged Voche towards it, taking off once she had backed up against it. The leader used the railing to activate her own pack, about to take off as well - 

“Wait!” Eli cried out, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Don’t move!” The leader cried, again digging her blaster into Voche’s hair, her hand still twitching. “Not a step. Now, I’m gonna tell you what you’re gonna do,” she said, and as she spoke, Thrawn noticed one of Voche’s hands casually drifting towards the forearm of her other arm - a _prosthetic_ arm, he realized. 

But the leader, too focused on keeping her grip around Voche’s neck and on her blaster, didn’t notice. “If you all know what’s good for you, you’ll--”

Her words were cut off as Voche buried another knife in her skull. 

Straight through her helmet, snapping the band on the darkened goggles over her eyes. As the eye wear fell from her face, Thrawn momentarily saw her eyes bulge in shock before Voche stood straight and whirled around, a third knife clutched in her non-prosthetic hand. She ripped the knife across her attackers throat, then without a seconds thought, kicked her squarely in the chest and sent her flying over the railing and tumbling out of sight. 

For a moment, no one spoke. Thrawn stared at Voche, who was still facing the open sky in front of her, and watched as she took a long breath, as though she was willing herself to calm. Then, she turned.

“Thanks for the back up,” she said, giving them a small smile. She brought her prosthetic arm up and used her other hand to snap shut the small compartment she had pulled the two knives from, then stooped to pick up the snapped goggles. After peering at them for a second, she tossed them over her shoulder, off the edge of the platform.

“Those could have been examined for evidence.” Thrawn said, stepping forward and frowning. 

To his surprise, Voche laughed, the sound made dark by the scowl on her features. “You don’t need evidence. I know who did this.” Her scowl deepened. “Business is rough in the Outer Rim. I’ve burned my fair share of bridges. But once word gets back to their boss of this…” She gestured over her shoulder, shrugging. “I highly doubt they’ll come back.”

There was another short moment of silence before Eli spoke up. “You… you talk like this has happened before,” he said, voice trembling. Thrawn turned to him, but saw he was unhurt. He was probably still feeling the effects of the fight. “Is this a regular occurrence?”

Voche shrugged again. “Why do you think my ship is so well equipped?” She said casually, striding forward towards the lift. “I’m prepared.”

Eli turned his gaze to Thrawn, looking bewildered, when Calrissian gave a pointed cough. 

“Should, ah… Should we alert the authorities?” He turned to look at Lobot, who had still not moved. “Lobot?”

The ‘borg didn’t respond, and Calrissian hurried forward. “Lobot, my man, are you okay?” He grasped his shoulders and gave him a stiff shake, and the ‘borg collapsed forward in his arms. 

“Kriff,” Calrissian swore, leaning forward to ease Lobot to the ground. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Eli asked, rushing forward as well. Thrawn, for his part, remained near the railing, ears pricked for possible returning attackers. 

“Some sort of jammer,” Calrissian said, cradling Lobot’s head in his hands and turning it to the side to access the control on his cranial implant. 

“What do you--?”

“Let me work!” Calrissian barked, his tone sharp. “If I can’t get him reset, his brain could be permanently damaged.”

Silence descended on their group as Lando fiddled with the implant, at one point pulling a small tool from his pocket and popping open the inner-workings of the device. After a tense few minutes, Lobot’s body stiffened, and Calrissian released him as the ‘borg tentatively sat up.

“Lobot?” Calrissian asked quietly. “You alright?”

Lobot didn’t answer right away, his eyes still staring into the middle distance. Then, he seemed to shudder, and turned to gaze at Calrissian. “Yes. Thank you.”

Calrissian grinned, clapping the ‘borg on the back before helping him stand. “Gave us a scare there. I guess you don’t have access to anything that just happened?”

“I do not,” Lobot said, peering around the platform. “I do not remember anything after Lady Dormund said to ‘run’.” He paused, gazing into nothing once again. “And it appears my connection to the central computer has been damaged.”

Lando shook his head. “Whoever these guys were, they knew what they were doing.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said, stepping forward. Now that Lobot was on his feet again, he wanted to get back inside the building, where it was relatively safer. “Come. We must find Baron Raynor.”

“Right,” Eli said. “We need to tell him about this.” He glanced towards Voche. “Even if Lady Dormund doesn’t want an investigation.”

They made their way back to the lift to find Voche waiting for them. She seemed agitated, rubbing her forefinger and thumb together, and didn’t speak as they joined her. 

“Are you alright?” Thrawn asked quietly as Eli keyed the lift, which was now, unsurprisingly, perfectly functional again. 

“I’m fine.” Voche said stiffly, not looking at him. She was still rubbing her fingers together. 

“Perhaps you should look into hiring a guard, if this is a regular occurrence,” Thrawn said, watching her carefully. 

“I’ll think about it.” Voche kept her gaze forward, and Thrawn let the subject drop. 

The rest of the ride passed in silence, save for Calrissian quietly catching Lobot up on what had occurred while the ‘borg was disabled. Thrawn caught Eli’s eye, giving him a slight nod of reassurance. He had fought well during the attack, despite being hindered by his heavy cowl and cape, and Thrawn made a note to mention that to him later. 

As they lift opened again at the ballroom, they were immediately accosted by Baron Raynor. 

“Where the _hell_ have you been, Lobot?” The man snarled, stepping forward menacingly. “Couldn’t get a hold of you, and--”

“Stop.” Thrawn said, stepping forward and holding an arm in front of Lobot. “We must find a private spot to speak.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Raynor snarled, not backing down. “Is Lady Dormund alright?”

“I am,” Voche said, stepping forward and frowning. “How do you know about the attack?”

“How do I know? It’s the only thing every one of my aides has been speaking of! We couldn’t find you anywhere, and we were worried you had been killed too!”

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed. “Who else has been killed?”

“What?” The Baron finally pulled back, confused. “What do you mean? We-- We found--” He cut himself off, now gazing at them more fully and taking in the sight of them - costumes ruffled, bruises blooming. “What happened?”

“We were attacked on our way up to the fireworks,” Eli said. “But we’re all okay. What are you talking about?”

The Baron swallowed sharply, then turned to Voche. “I’m so sorry, Lady Dormund,” he said, wringing his hands. “But your assistant. He’s-- We found--” He swallowed again. “Someone murdered him in your suite.”

 

\---

Nightswan slammed his fist into the cool porcelain of his toilet, cringing as his stomach heaved again, churning up nothing but bile. 

He had been so _sloppy_ , and he was paying for it. 

He dry heaved again, this time nothing coming up, and slumped against the wall of his apartment’s small ‘fresher, head in his hands. 

He couldn’t get the pictures out of his mind - the shock on Doss’s face when Nightswan jumped him, the shock turning to rage, Doss pulling a blaster from his cloak, the fight, the blaster going off--

He scrambled for the toilet, stomach twisting with disgust and regret. 

Once the spell passed, he slumped against the wall again, willing himself to calm. This didn’t disrupt the plan. He was still good. Everything was in place. Messier than he wanted, yes, but still going as he had intended. 

In fact, maybe it was better Doss was dead. If anything, it would catch Thrawn’s interest even more. He had no doubt Thrawn would figure out the man’s death wasn’t planned. 

Nightswan grimaced, running his hands over his clammy face. He had intended to make it look like a robbery. Incapacitate Doss, toss the suite, leave bits of incriminating evidence for the local authorities to connect it to something larger than a simple spice deal gone wrong. They would of course turn to Thrawn, with his larger Imperial connections, who would no doubt discover Dormund’s true identity and remove her from the bidding equation. 

Easy.

Except he hadn’t thought Doss would have a blaster on him. They had met up at the Gala, and supposedly, all party-goers had been thoroughly searched. Doss shouldn’t have had the weapon on him. 

But of course he had. 

 _Sloppy,_ he thought to himself, the word echoing in his mind. Nightswan _hated_ killing. Killing is what the Empire did. Not him. 

Groaning, he lunged for the toilet again, unable to stop himself from seeing the light leave Doss’s eyes. 

He didn’t know how long he had sat there, alternating between the toilet and the wall, when the faint _ping_ of his comm going off pulled him from his stupor. 

“Nightswan.”

 _“This is Fate,”_ came the robotic voice from the other end. _“We… need to talk.”_

Nightswan frowned. Had word already gotten around of Doss’s death? Did Fate, a doctor, oppose that fact?

“What’s going on?”

There was a long pause. _“It’s about Carter. I may have…”_ There was a sound Nightswan interpreted as a sigh. _“I may have made a mistake. Come to the clinic when you can."_

Carter? Last he heard, she had jumped a transport off-world. 

“I’ll be right there.” Nightswan keyed his comm off and stood, unsteady on his feet. He paused as he caught sight of his reflection in the ‘fresher mirror, and sighed. He looked like hell, but there wasn’t much to be done for it. Reaching for his mask, he pulled it on and slipped out of his apartment, his black costume disguising him as he was swallowed up by the night. 


End file.
